


Do Me Wrong

by harrietelizabeth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietelizabeth/pseuds/harrietelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn knows what he’s saying, knows it’s more than what it sounds like, and he can see that Liam hears it too, in the gaps between his words. Zayn didn’t mean for it to happen like this, to get stuck like a scratched record on one person, but it’s like there’s a magnet in his chest that pulls him back to Liam, even when he’s trying to run in the opposite direction. And he’s never been that guy, always been able to detach himself from his feelings and move on when things get too serious, so why, when Liam feels like the most serious thing to happen in his life, can he not cut his ties and walk away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Me Wrong

**// ZAYN //**

Zayn wakes up with his tongue stuck to the roof his mouth, a dull ache behind his eyes, and a huge, warm arm across his chest. His mind processes the basics first – Sunday morning, hangover, naked under the sheets. Then other details start to trickle into the gaps – brown eyes, rough hands, the taste of beer on pink lips. Then Zayn starts to become aware of his surroundings – he can tell from the dark clothes all over the floor and the cracked screen of his laptop on the desk that he’s in his own room, so he has nowhere to go to get away from the other boy in his bed. Usually, he wakes up in a stranger’s bed, and he can slip out of bed quietly, pull on his clothes in the dishwater-grey light and leave before they wake up, because it saves him from having to say goodbye.

But this is his room. Those are his posters on the wall, his books stacked precariously next to the bed, and he has nowhere to go. So Zayn gently, quietly extracts himself from the tangle of warm limbs next to him, and fumbles around on the floor for his pants. He finds them on top of his Art History assignment due Monday, which he’s barely started, and pulls his pants on, as well as a tee shirt that’s draped over the back of his desk chair. He finds his smokes in the back pocket of his jeans, inside out on the floor at the foot of his bed, and hoists himself up onto his windowsill, cracking the window open a bit and lighting up. He looks out at the scraggly courtyard beneath his window, deliberately not watching the boy’s broad chest rise and fall, and smokes his cigarette, and thinks of something to say to him when he wakes up.

They boy’s name swims back into Zayn’s mind – Liam. But he doesn’t remember much else about him – he’s doing a business degree, or something like that, and he lives with the curly-haired guy Zayn often sees at his and Louis’s parties. But he’s never seen Liam before. He thinks he’d remember those hands, his knuckles, the way Liam’s veins throb against the skin on the underside of his wrists. 

Zayn remembers other things, too. Liam tripping adorably over his feet and ending up pressing Zayn against the door and tugging at the hem of his shirt, looking with hooded eyes down at Zayn’s lips. The air in Zayn’s lungs and in the room around them too thick to flow smoothly through his airways. Liam’s lips on his, hot and dry from the blunt they’d smoked on the balcony. Zayn had licked at them, wanting that lingering, bittersweet taste in his mouth again. 

He remembers Liam pulling him over to the bed and groaning when Zayn fell down on top of him. Liam unbuttoning Zayn’s shirt faster than Zayn could even think, still too dazed by the taste of Liam’s mouth and the smell of his aftershave, thick and cloying along with the weed in Zayn’s nose. 

He closes his eyes, letting the smells and tastes of last night wash over him, his jeans already too tight where he’s sitting on the windowsill. 

_Liam gets Zayn’s pants off, then climbs off the bed to undress himself. Zayn watches helplessly as Liam peels off his tee shirt, the thick strips of muscle that cling to his sturdy frame tensing and stretching with the movement. Liam unbuckles his belt teasingly, pushing his hips forward slowly so Zayn can see the shape of him through the tight denim, and Zayn unconsciously licks his lips. Liam’s eyes hone in on the movement immediately, and his jeans are around his ankles a second later. Zayn watches Liam stroke himself through his boxers, and physically aches. He can’t take his eyes off Liam’s length outlined in the thin cotton, can’t stop thinking about how he tastes, how he’d feel in Zayn’s mouth. His eyes trail down Liam’s long fingers wrapped around his cock, the watch on his wrist glinting in the dim light of Zayn’s bedside lamp. Liam takes a step towards the bed, and Zayn looks up at him._

_“You wanna suck it?” Liam asks hoarsely, gripping himself with those long fingers. Zayn gulps._

_“Fuck, yeah,” he breathes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he’s face to face with Liam’s crotch. He puts his hands on Liam’s hips and mouths at his dick through his cotton briefs, while Liam cups Zayn’s jaw with one hand and wraps his fingers in Zayn’s hair with the other._

_“Suck it, Zayn,” Liam commands, a little breathlessly, from above him, and Zayn looks up at him with bloodshot eyes, tugging Liam’s briefs down over his cock and taking a second to look it over, his mouth watering._

_Zayn’s seen a lot of dicks in his lifetime, but Liam is…Liam is up there with the biggest. And the prettiest. And even though he’s sucked a large percentage of the dicks he’s seen, Zayn’s still a little nervous. He wants to be good for Liam for some reason, wants to make sure Liam remembers him, even if it’s just for his blowjob skills. Zayn licks his lips one last time, hearing Liam whine above him, and then swallows him down. He feels Liam hit the back of his throat sooner than he expects, and gags a little, pulling off quickly. Fucking great start._

_“Fuck, sorry,” he says hoarsely, but Liam strokes him under his chin and shakes his head._

_“No, it feels fucking incredible,” Liam says, fingers still tight in Zayn’s hair. So Zayn wraps his mouth around him again, slower this time, licking all the way around the head before sliding his mouth down Liam’s length, and when he feels Liam down the back of his throat, he breathes through his nose and swallows carefully. Zayn hollows his cheeks around Liam, licking at the underside of his cock as he pulls off, and feels Liam’s nails scratch at his scalp._

_“Jesus, Zayn,” Liam is saying above him, and Zayn digs his fingers into Liam’s hips, preening under the praise. If there’s one thing he knows he’s good at, it’s sucking dick. He looks up at Liam with his mouth wrapped around him, watching Liam’s head drop back and his stomach muscles clench as he thrusts slightly into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn lets himself go, loving the way his cheeks feel tight and stretched around Liam’s dick, the way his mouth fills up with saliva until it runs over his lips and down Liam’s cock, the way Liam’s noises of pleasure get louder and louder above him until he’s letting out a steady stream of expletives._

_“Ok ok, Zayn, I’m close but fuck, I wanna – I don’t wanna come like this.” Zayn isn’t sure he knows what Liam means, but he pulls his mouth off Liam’s dick and looks up at him._

_“How – how d’you wanna come?” Zayn asks, his voice hoarse and deeper than usual. Liam’s dick actually twitches, and Zayn allows himself a moment of self-congratulations before his mind finally focuses on his own dick. He doesn’t think he’s been this hard before in his entire life._

_Liam leans down and kisses Zayn back into the mattress, climbing on top of him._

_“Inside you,” Liam murmurs between kisses, and ok, yeah, Zayn can work with that. Obeying Liam’s firm hands at his hips, Zayn rolls onto his stomach, and Liam leaves a hot trail of kisses down his spine, making Zayn arch into the mattress and grind his hips down, trying to give his dick the friction it’s currently demanding. Then he feels a palm slap his ass firmly, and looks over his shoulder at Liam._

_“None of that,” Liam says reproachfully. He leans down to Zayn’s ear. “I wanna be the one to make you come, not the fucking mattress,” Liam says, and Zayn shudders._

_“Where’s your lube?” Liam breathes into Zayn’s ear, and Zayn manages to tell him that his lube and condoms are in the bedside table. He listens as Liam rustles around a bit, and then jolts slightly as he feels a cold, slick finger trace around his hole, and then slide inside him._

_“Ffffffffffuck,” he breathes out, because god, he’s really, really tight. Yeah, he’d fucked around with Ben last weekend, but they’d just exchanged blowjobs and then Ben asked him to leave because he didn’t like sharing his bed. So even one of Liam’s fingers feels like so much, and Zayn isn’t sure how he’s going to handle anything more._

_“You’re so fucking tight,” Liam says, his voice shaking a little as he works his finger inside Zayn, who’s buried his face in the mattress. He’s doing his best not to rub himself off on the sheets, as per Liam’s request, so he fists his hands in the sheets instead and focuses on the intense heat from Liam’s finger. Liam’s careful with him, unlike almost everyone else Zayn’s been with, opening Zayn up slowly, checking with him before he adds a second finger, then a third, and keeping a steadying hand on Zayn’s shoulder the whole time. Zayn’s about to lose his mind when he hears Liam finally, finally rip open the condom, and he’s so eager for it he moans into the mattress at just the thought of having Liam’s cock inside him._

_“You want it babe?” Liam asks, his lips suddenly pressed against Zayn’s ear again. Zayn can feel Liam rubbing his cock against Zayn’s hole, and he arches his back into it, trying to catch some of the friction._

_“Yeah, fuck Liam, yes.”_

_Liam pushes in slowly, and it’s so much that Zayn stops breathing for a second. He isn’t used to so much prep, more accustomed to a hasty blowjob against the wall or a quick fuck more for the other guy to get off than to get Zayn really, really wound up like this. He’s like a coiled spring, ready to release all the pent up energy inside him._

_“Jesus Christ,” Liam chokes out, and Zayn needs to come, immediately, or he’s going to go insane._

_“Liam, ohmygod, move please,” Zayn begs, not caring how desperate he sounds, and Liam, thank god, obeys. He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then pushes back in, angling his hips so he’s almost brushing up against Zayn’s prostate. It’s too much and not enough for Zayn all at once; it’s too careful, too measured, like Liam’s afraid of hurting Zayn._

_“Faster, Liam,” Zayn says through gritted teeth. “Want you to fuck me.” Liam flattens his back against Zayn’s, pulling at his hair so that Zayn’s neck curves back._

_“You like it rough?” Liam asks, and Zayn nods his head vigorously, unable to speak because his vocal chords are stretched so tight with Liam pulling his head backwards. Then Liam’s hips snap into Zayn’s, and his hand moves from Zayn’s hair to the back of his neck, pressing him into the mattress and fucking into him hard._

_“Like this?” Liam asks, his voice strained, and yes, fuck, just like that, Zayn tells him, letting himself go to the feeling of being dominated, of giving up control to another person. Liam’s thumb digs into his jugular until Zayn’s half choking, and he fucking loves it. Liam picks up speed but keeps his strokes long, and Zayn has no idea how he does it. But finally his cock is starting to rub off just right against the sheets, and he feels the spring in the pit of his stomach start to uncoil, ready to release. He hones in on the feeling of Liam’s wide palm pressed against the back of his neck, his fingertips digging into Zayn’s hips almost painfully, and the heat where he’s fucking into Zayn. Then Liam pushes his thumb into Zayn’s mouth, and it completely sends Zayn over the edge, making every muscle in his body tense up and releasing the immense pressure in his pelvis and his stomach and just behind his eyes. He bites down on Liam’s thumb as he comes, riding it out in waves as his orgasm washes over him._

_“Oh my god, fuck,” Liam chokes out above him just before he comes as well, tightening and pulsing inside Zayn, and it feels so fucking good for someone not to pull out and spill over Zayn’s face, or stomach, or ass, that Zayn feels paralysed, pinned to the mattress by more than just Liam’s huge warm hand. Liam pulls out gently, slowly, and Zayn misses him almost as soon as he’s gone. Somehow, his head manages to find the pillow and he pulls the covers up, falling asleep almost immediately in a perfect state of half-stoned, half-drunk and well-fucked._

Zayn comes out of his memories just in time to see Liam stirring, rubbing his hands over his face before opening his eyes and looking straight over at Zayn. It almost feels like Liam’s looking through him.

“Morning,” Liam says, his voice all bitter dark chocolate and gravel. “You’re awake early.”

“It’s 11:30,” Zayn says, flicking his cigarette butt out the window and climbing down off the sill.

“Oh shit, really? I told Harry I’d have lunch with him today.” 

The name Harry matches up with the curly haired boy with almost as many tattoos as Zayn in his mind, and he vaguely remembers that Harry studies music. Liam sits up and scrambles around for his clothes, and Zayn maybe watches the way his muscles tense as he reaches over the end of his bed for his jeans. Zayn spots Liam’s shirt stuffed half under the bed, remembering the way Liam had pulled it off so confidently last night and trying not to get hard again. His flashback to last night hadn’t helped. Zayn pulls Liam’s tee shirt out from under the bed and hands it to him. Liam flashes him a smile that almost blinds Zayn in his bleary state, and he takes a step back instinctively.

“Thanks,” Liam says, his voice already brighter than when he’d woken up. “Don’t spose you can see my phone too, can you? I’ll probably have ten million calls from Harry, he’s a bit clingy,” Liam’s saying as he pulls his tee shirt on. 

Zayn’s groggy brain can’t keep up with Liam’s stream of words sweeping him away in their current, let alone the fact that he’s half naked. He’s dumbstruck by this boy, sitting enthroned on Zayn’s saggy mattress, golden and glorious, making conversation – well, a monologue, but still – and beaming up at Zayn like he hung the moon or something. Zayn isn’t sure what to do with all of it. 

“Here,” says Zayn, leaning over the mattress next to Liam where his phone’s stuffed between Zayn’s two pillows. They’re close, so close Zayn can feel the heat coming off Liam’s shoulders, and part of him wants to wrap that warmth around him, let himself get close to Liam, but instinct kicks in and he pulls hand back as soon as Liam’s fingers close around the phone.

“Cheers,” Liam says, smiling blindly – literally blindly, his eyes crease up so much all Zayn can see are his lashes, matted together from sleep. “Yep, nine missed calls,” Liam says, scrolling through his phone then locking the screen. “He’ll be fine.” 

Zayn panics for a second that Harry is Liam’s boyfriend or something and now Zayn’s a dirty little secret, but then he remembers Liam explicitly telling him they were ‘just friends’ last night, and smiles a little to himself, recalling how eager Liam had been for Zayn to know he and Harry weren’t dating. 

“You look happy,” Liam says softly, and Zayn jumps. It’s so honest, so observant, that Zayn feels, again, like Liam can see right inside him, right to the depths where even Zayn himself doesn’t like to look.

“I feel like shit,” Zayn says defensively, unsure how to respond to this uninhibited, eager boy with his smile like fresh orange juice in the morning and his lips like cotton candy. 

“Ugh, me too,” Liam says, standing up to pull on his jeans, and Zayn can’t help but sneak a look at the way his cock bulges in his pants before he zips them up. Zayn licks his lips. 

“I had fun last night though,” Liam says, taking a step towards Zayn, and Zayn looks up at him warily. 

“Me too,” he says, hating the way his voice trips over his tongue and falls out a little waveringly. Liam beams down at him – Zayn’s only a little shorter than Liam, an inch at most, but he feels surrounded by Liam’s presence, like he could be swallowed up by his stupid, muscly arms.

“Hey, did you wanna join me and Harry for lunch?” Liam asks, turning around suddenly to pick his wallet up off the bedside table. 

“I – nah, I wouldn’t wanna intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be – well, I mean, we could get coffee another time maybe?” 

And the thing is, Zayn wants to have coffee with him, he really does. But it’s not how he does these things, usually. He usually wouldn’t even be having this conversation with Liam, but he can’t bring himself to kick the brown-eyed boy out of his room when he looks so soft and warm and every bit a vision from Zayn’s recurring wet dream. But coffee would be taking it a step too far; it would mean expectations, a date, and Zayn doesn’t date. He prefers being able to do his own thing and be his own person without feeling like he’s got someone else relying on him, expecting him to be a certain kind of person that Zayn doesn’t know how to be. 

“Yeah, text me, we can organize it,” Zayn finds himself saying, and immediately wishes he’d been straight up. He doesn’t play round with people, lets them know that it’s just sex, nothing more, and usually they’re fine with that. Zayn can kind of see why - he’s a pretty face, sure, but he’s not witty like Louis, not funny and charming like Niall, he’s not someone most people remember; at least, not by name. So he gives Liam his number and tells him they’ll meet up again soon, but he doesn’t really believe it. 

He goes back to the window and lights up another cigarette, and prepares to not feel disappointed when he never hears from Liam again.

//

He gets a text from Liam the next morning. It makes Zayn’s heart sink, because he really didn’t want to do this to Liam. But he can practically hear Liam’s eager voice through his text, telling him he’s got a free afternoon and asking if Zayn wants to get that coffee they talked about. But Zayn knows he can’t. He can’t sit there across from Liam, and drink coffee like it’s a date, and pretend that there’s going to be another date just like it. 

Because there’s not. 

He exits out of his messages, not bothering to reply, and grabs his towel to go have a shower. 

Closing his eyes under the pathetic spray of water he, Louis and Niall call a shower, Zayn reminds himself of all the reasons he and Liam will never work. Firstly, because Zayn doesn’t work with anyone. He’s heard other people talk about past relationships, the one that hurt them, the one that got away, all that stuff that people write songs and make movies about. And Zayn gets it, he really does. He’s imagined having that one person who means the most to you, who takes everything you gave them and sets it on fire. 

It’s just, he’s never had that one person. He’s had people, so many he can’t remember, take piece after piece of him until he’s not sure there’s nothing left of who he used to be. They were just small pieces, things you think you wouldn’t miss until they’re gone. The rush of a first kiss, the thrill of your name on someone else’s lips, but Zayn misses them now, when he can’t summon that feeling anymore. He tries to imagine himself being somebody’s whole world, or worse, somebody being his whole world, and he doesn’t think he’s capable of that anymore. All the people he’s let touch him pile up and up until they suffocate him, so it’s not just one person that ripped his world apart but an army of hands and mouths and teeth taking him down, piece by piece.

He gets out of the shower, and doesn’t look at his phone.

//

But by four o clock, when he’s given up on studying because the only thing he sees on the page is Liam’s name, Zayn caves, and reaches for his phone.

“hey, u could come round to mine tonight, watch a movie or somthin? All good if u don’t wanna x” 

He can handle sex. He can handle Liam in his bed, but he can’t handle him under his skin. He shoves his phone under the couch cushion so he doesn’t have to stare at the blank screen, then looks up, feigning nonchalance, as Niall walks in the door. He does a double take when he sees Zayn on the couch.

“I thought you were going out for coffee?” Niall goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a block of cheese and a loaf of bread. Zayn narrows his eyes. 

“How did you know about that?” 

Niall shrugs, piling sliced cheese onto the bread.

“Bumped into Harry today, he mentioned it.” Zayn is confused; he didn’t know Niall and Harry were friendly enough to talk around campus, and he also didn’t expect Liam to tell Harry about texting Zayn, especially when Zayn hadn’t replied until just now.

“First off, since when do you talk to Harry? Second, I never agreed to go to coffee with him. I only just texted him asking him to come over.” Niall turns around from where he’s squirting sweet chilli sauce on top of the cheese, eyebrows raised.

“Classy, Zayn. Won’t go out for coffee but you’ll get him round here for another shag. Must’ve been some good dick.” Zayn throws the couch cushion at him, then sees a message lighting up his phone screen. Liam’s replied, asking him what time he should come round. 

“Listen, I just wanna have a bit of fun with him, ok? I’m not trying to get into anything too serious.”

“Oh my god Zayn, please don’t put me through this again,” Niall says, putting his fully assembled sandwich under the grill. “Going out for coffee is not serious, it’s called a date. People do it all the time.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not ‘people’,” Zayn says, heaving himself off the couch and subtly grabbing his phone. 

“Right, sorry, I forgot. You’re not a person, you’re a Malik, an otherworldly being from space, here only to grace us with your dick and cheekbones. Incapable of feelings,” Niall says in a robot voice, and Zayn can’t help but smile a little.

“Exactly,” he says, then leaves Niall to his sandwich and retreats to his room.

//

Liam knocks on the door at exactly 8:30pm, just like Zayn knew he would. And, just like Zayn knew they would, Louis and Niall refuse to go to their rooms, so they’re sitting smugly on the couch, pretending to watch Criminal Minds, when Liam walks in carrying two boxes of Chinese takeout. Which Zayn did _not_ ask him to bring, for the record. 

“Oh my god guys, sorry, shit!” Liam exclaims when he sees Louis and Niall. “I would’ve brought some for you but I, I didn’t even think, I just kind of realised I was hungry on the way here so I got some food for Zayn and I but…we could probably share, I mean there’s heaps here?” 

Zayn is trying really, really hard not to be endeared by Liam’s eager and clearly genuine apologies (also by the fact that he’s come bearing gifts of food), but Liam is making it really fucking hard for him with those puppy eyes and the way he’s hovering between the kitchen and the couch, looking like he wants to serve up a three course meal for Louis and Niall just because they won’t go to their damn rooms.

“It’s ok Liam, they’ve already had dinner,” Zayn says firmly as Niall looks ready to accept Liam’s offer. Liam still looks unsure, so Zayn grabs his elbow and leads Liam towards his bedroom.

“Have fun!” Louis calls.

“Be good!” Niall adds.

“And if you can’t be good, be careful,” says Louis smugly, and Zayn slams the door on the sound of their laughter. He lives with actual children.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, gesturing for Liam to sit down in the only chair in the room, while Zayn sits cross legged on the bed. 

While he’d cleaned up earlier, there’s still the odd sock he missed and a couple of empty cigarette cartons on the floor that have sort of become part of the furniture. Zayn wants to clean them up now, because it doesn’t seem right for Liam to be sitting there all shiny and clean amongst Zayn’s shit. 

“Black bean beef or sweet and sour pork?” Liam asks, opening up the white cardboard boxes and filling the room with an incredible smell. 

“Um, beef, thanks.” 

Zayn tries not to eat too quickly while Liam chats about his day, the assignments he has coming up, the music Harry always plays on full volume in his room, the fact that the barista gave him a cappuccino instead of a flat white in the morning but he’d been too embarrassed (which Zayn interprets as too polite and nice) to take it back. Zayn listens, trying not to get attached to every single little thing about Liam that draws him in. Because he doesn’t want that. That was the reason he didn’t want to go out for coffee, didn’t want to get dinner or drinks or anything like that (eating Chinese takeout in his room doesn’t count, he thinks). Because he’s shit at attachment, and it’s just easier to ask Liam round here for a bit of fun, because then he doesn’t have the power to hurt Zayn when he decides to leave.

“So, what movie did you wanna watch?” Liam asks once Zayn’s taken the empty containers out to the bin (thankfully, Louis and Niall have gone to bed). 

Zayn considers his answer carefully. He thinks it’s pretty obvious that Liam didn’t come round here to watch a movie – he’s wearing jeans and a button up plaid shirt, for one, and he smells like he just got out of the shower or at least used some pretty expensive cologne. And he’s 21, Zayn reminds himself, surely he knows that watching a movie is universal code for sex. It’s just, Zayn doesn’t want to be that douchebag that explains this to Liam, if he really is expecting to watch a movie. 

“Dunno, I’ve got a few on my laptop,” Zayn says, gesturing towards his Macbook on the desk in front of Liam. “Have a look if you like.” 

Zayn stretches out on the bed, watching Liam scroll through his downloads with those long, thick fingers, and swallows heavily when he thinks about how they felt inside him the other night. That’s what he wants right now, he tells himself, not chatting with Liam about which films he has and hasn’t seen, his favourite Tarantino movie, who played Batman better (Christian Bale, obviously). Because that’s too close for Zayn, like Liam’s a razor blade and Zayn’s trying to get a clean shave, but he doesn’t want to nick himself. Sometimes it’s just easier to let the stubble grow, he thinks.

Liam chooses Inception, and Zayn doesn’t point out that he’s seen that movie at least a hundred times, just moves over on the bed so there’s room for Liam, who carefully shucks his shoes off before settling down on the mattress next to Zayn. He balances the laptop on his knee and presses his body up against Zayn’s, arm to arm, thigh to thigh. He’s ridiculously warm, Zayn notices, like he’s carrying around solar panels under that flannel or something. Zayn really, really wants to cuddle into his broad chest, rest his head on Liam’s shoulder and feel that warmth surround him, pull him in, but he’s not going to let himself. He pays absolutely zero attention to the movie and focuses more on the way Liam spreads his legs slightly so that his knee is almost on top of Zayn’s, and the way that the pressure on Zayn’s thigh sends an electric current up his spine and into whatever part of the brain controls his dick. 

Zayn almost makes it through the whole movie before he loses it. But he can’t sit there surrounded by Liam’s smell, his warmth, his thigh pressed up against Zayn’s and his eyes glued to the screen, sometimes mouthing the actors’ lines (“you mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger darling”) and not start thinking about…well everything. About Liam’s favourite songs, his mother’s name, what he likes to eat when he’s sick. Because Zayn’s not going to find out, and it’s so hard to sit there and pretend that he doesn’t want to. So Zayn does the only thing he knows how to do; he wriggles around so he’s side on to Liam, and runs a hand up his denim-clad thigh. Liam looks down at it, then back at the movie, and Zayn wants to scream at how polite Liam’s being. Where’s the Liam that pinned him to the mattress the other night?

“Leeeeeeyuuum,” Zayn says softly, running his hand over the buttons on Liam’s jeans. 

“Mmm?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t watched this movie before and don’t know exactly how it ends,” Zayn says, rubbing his fingers harder against the denim that’s starting to strain over Liam’s crotch.

“I know, but every time I watch the ending I think I’m gonna see something different, like I’ll know if it tips over or not.” He sounds a little bit sad, and Zayn scoffs. 

“Of course it tips over,” he says, cupping his hand around Liam, who raises an eyebrow at him.

“How can you be sure?” Zayn rolls his eyes.

“It’s a movie, Liam. It can end however you want it to end.”

“Is that your professional, movie-critic-opinion on the matter, is it?” says Liam with a smile, and no, he doesn’t get to be cute like that. It’s not fair. 

“Yes,” says Zayn, shutting the laptop and moving it onto the floor so he can straddle Liam’s lap. Finally, Liam gets the hint and puts his hands on Zayn’s hips. Zayn grinds down a little into his lap, and can feel Liam getting harder through his jeans. Liam’s lips are so pink, and so, so full, sweet looking like candy, Zayn just wants to bite down on them. 

“C’mon then Liam,” he says as Liam’s hands trace over his ass, “c’mon,” and finally Liam leans in and kisses him. Zayn deepens it almost immediately; he can’t help it, he feels in control this way, astride Liam, so he opens his mouth and takes a deep breath, feeling Liam’s tongue swipe the inside of his cheek. He groans a little so Liam knows he likes it, and keeps his hips rolling down on Liam’s lap. Zayn’s hands go to the top of Liam’s shirt, slowly working on the buttons until Liam’s broad, slightly hairy chest is bare in front of him and he can run his hands over it. He slips the shirt over Liam’s shoulders, and god, those biceps are so damn hard under Zayn’s fingers. He mews into Liam’s mouth, trying to speed things up, because Liam seems to be content just sitting here making out. And while Zayn loves it too, loves the feeling of Liam’s big palms running over his ass and thighs, he’d really rather be pinned to the bed under Liam’s weight, maybe feel those fingers wrap around his throat again. 

“Leeeeeeyuum,” Zayn whines into his mouth, and Liam bucks up slightly underneath him. Finally, success. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Zayn says, nipping at Liam’s bottom lip with his teeth, trying to make it even more pink and puffy. 

“Yeah? You desperate for it?” Liam asks, and fuck, that goes straight to Zayn’s dick. As if he wasn’t hard enough already. 

“Want me to fuck you right now?” Liam says, moving his lips onto Zayn’s neck and scraping his teeth against Zayn’s skin. Zayn arches into it, pulling Liam’s head closer with one hand while the other works on the buttons of Liam’s jeans. He shoves Liam’s pants down far enough to pull his dick out, pulling on it in long strokes, twisting his wrist at the end to make Liam moan open mouthed against Zayn’s collarbone. 

“You want it just as bad,” Zayn says against the top of Liam’s head as he sucks a hickey into Zayn’s clavicle, and then Liam pulls back, looking up at him with dark eyes. 

“Yeah,” he says, and pushes Zayn backwards onto the bed, fumbling quickly with his fly and pulling his jeans and pants off in one go. Liam leans back slightly to reach for Zayn’s bedside drawer like he’s done it a thousand times before, not once while they were both pretty high, and it makes Zayn wonder for a second what it would be like to do this every night with Liam – watch a movie, hook up, have amazing sex and fall asleep. He’s not convinced he’d hate it. 

Then Liam’s leaning over him again and kissing him open mouthed while he works a finger in, quicker and rougher than last time, and Zayn digs his nails into Liam’s back without thinking. Liam pulls back immediately, his face creased with worry.

“You ok? Sorry, I didn’t mean to do it that fast, I just – you said you like it rough, and –“

“Liam, I do, it’s fine. It’s…it’s way more than fine, don’t stop, please.” Liam still looks a little worried, and Zayn irrationally wants to kiss the stupid puppy dog expression off his face. Instead, he pulls him back in for a dirty kiss, and encourages Liam loudly as he starts to work Zayn open again with his fingers.

Zayn had had his face buried in the mattress last time they did this, so he hadn’t been able to see the expression on Liam’s face as he rolled the condom onto his dick and slowly pushed inside Zayn. But this time, Zayn watches in awe as Liam’s cheeks flush deeply, his eyes flutter shut and the vein in his neck stands out against his honey golden skin when he bottoms out. Zayn makes a mental note to never take it from behind ever again. 

Not that this thing he’s doing with Liam is anything long term. It’s just really, really good to feel his cock inside him, to hear Liam groan as his hips work faster, for Zayn to take two of those long, thick fingers into his mouth as Liam pushes Zayn’s knees up towards his chest, hitting the spot that makes Zayn’s toes cramp up. His hand goes to wrap around his cock, because he’s so close, he needs to come, but Liam grabs his wrist and pins it above Zayn’s head. 

“Don’t you remember, Zayn? _I’m_ the one who gets to make you come,” Liam says, leaning forward to cover Zayn’s mouth with his own, and god, ok, possessiveness looks so, so good on Liam. 

“Liam, _please_ , I need to come, please just let me –“

“When I’m ready,” Liam says, sliding a hand under Zayn’s thigh to push his knee back further. It stretches Zayn even tighter and he chokes out a cry, putting the hand that isn’t pinned to the bed on Liam’s forearm to steady himself. The other boy’s got sweat beading on his forehead, a light sheen over his body that makes him glow in the dim light from Zayn’s bedside lamp. 

“You feel fucking incredible, Zee,” Liam says, and Zayn doesn’t even have time to register the nickname before Liam’s got his hand around Zayn’s cock and is stroking him through his orgasm, the hand on Zayn’s wrist squeezing so hard it’s almost painful. Liam’s other hand is glistening with Zayn’s come, and then he’s putting his fingers back in Zayn’s mouth. And Zayn _likes_ it, had no idea it would be something he’d be into, but with Liam it feels amazing, that Liam knows exactly how far to take the dynamic of submission and domination. Zayn licks around Liam’s fingers, tasting himself, and looks up at Liam just in time to see his eyes squeeze shut and feel his hips stutter as he comes. 

Liam slumps over Zayn, the hand that covered Zayn’s wrist going slack, and then slowly, gently, he pulls out. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says weakly, and Zayn laughs softly. Liam props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Zayn, his eyes serious, and Zayn’s heart skips a beat. The traitor.

“That wasn’t too much was it? I should’ve checked first, I –“

“No, no it wasn’t. I mean, I’ve never…done it before, like, tasted myself, but I kind of….liked it,” Zayn says, his voice stuck in the back of his throat. Liam smiles, a little smugly, and even though he’s just come less than a minute ago, Zayn has to admit it turns him on. 

“I liked watching you do it, like you enjoyed it,” Liam says, his voice low and rough, and god, is Zayn starting to get hard again? This boy is not good for his health. 

Liam sits up, pulling off the condom and getting up to put it in the bin. Zayn scrabbles around for his underwear and pulls it on, getting under the covers even though he’s not really tired. He expects Liam to start getting dressed to leave, but once he’s got his pants on, he climbs into bed next to Zayn, settling down next to him and curling in towards Zayn’s body. 

“Turn over,” he says softly, and ok, Zayn’s pretty worn out from round one, but he rolls onto his stomach obediently, waiting for Liam to roll on top of him and push inside him again. Instead, he just hears a soft little laugh from Liam, and looks over at him, confused. 

“Not that far, silly. Lie on your side,” Liam says, his brown eyes sparkling, so Zayn does, thinking Liam must be going for spoon sex. But Liam just cuddles in close to him, put his arm around Zayn, and plants a warm kiss on the back of Zayn’s neck. Zayn freezes up for a second, because he’s _not_ a cuddler by habit, so he’s not sure how to respond. 

“Night, Zee,” Liam mumbles sleepily, and Zayn is struck, firstly by that nickname again, and secondly by how fast Liam can go from making Zayn lick his own come off Liam’s fingers, to half-asleep and spooning. He’s warm, though, and his arm is like a second blanket over Zayn, so pretty soon he starts to drift off himself. 

//

For the second time in three days, Zayn wakes up with someone else in his bed. He turns his head and sees Liam sound asleep next to him, mouth open, mashed against the mattress, drool pooling on the pillowcase. He looks so soft, so unlike the boy who pinned Zayn to the mattress last night and made him beg for an orgasm, that Zayn feels like he’s been winded. But he knows he needs to stop this, sooner rather than later. 

So he shrugs Liam’s arm off him, pushing back the covers and climbing out of bed. Liam grumbles softly (adorably), rolling over and rubbing his eyes with his fist before he opens them. He’s like an almost-6-foot-tall, 200 pound baby, Zayn thinks fondly. Then mentally slaps himself.

“Why’re you ‘wake so early?” Liam mumbles, squinting at Zayn as he hunts through his drawers for some clean underwear. Zayn glances at the alarm clock next to his bed – Liam’s right, it’s only 7:30. 

“Sorry, got class at 8,” Zayn says, even though he doesn’t have class until 10:30. He’s a horrible person, he knows, but he needs Liam gone so he can have a crisis about how much he enjoys sharing his bed with someone else without Liam’s distracting presence. 

“Oh. Ok,” Liam says, pulling himself upright and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looks…beautiful, Zayn thinks, half his face creased from the pillow and his hair standing up on one side, but he looks sweet like sticky caramel in the slanting glow of light coming through the crack in Zayn’s curtains. Zayn thinks briefly about going down on him then and there, but then Liam’s standing up, pulling on his shirt and jeans, and Zayn’s so caught up in watching that he forgets he’s meant to be getting dressed as well. 

“Thought you had class,” Liam says, smirking at him as he sits on the bed to lace up his Timberlands. And it’s not fair, how Liam goes from soft and sleepy to cocky and confident in the time it takes for Zayn to blink. Zayn jumps slightly, caught out, and frantically pulls out a hoodie and jeans from his overflowing drawers. 

“I do,” he says, hopping on one leg while he pulls his jeans on, trying to look in the mirror to see if his hair’s acceptable. It will have to do.

“Well, I should go, I’m clearly distracting you,” Liam says, appearing suddenly in the mirror behind Zayn. The smugness in his voice does…..things, to Zayn, but he plays it cool as he turns around. 

“Cool, well, I’ll see you round yeah?”

“Yeah, text me,” Liam says, and then leans in to kiss Zayn. Zayn’s pushed back against the mirror with the force of it, and Liam’s got his arm against the wall beside Zayn’s head and his finger in Zayn’s belt loop and fuck, Zayn feels utterly powerless. Then Liam’s gone, grinning at Zayn over his shoulder as he closes the door and leaves Zayn breathless against the mirror, trying to figure out how to end this when every part of him is screaming for Liam to stay.

//

When Liam texts him asking how his day’s going, telling him how he’s bored in class and wishes he had the power of invisibility so he could sneak out, Zayn doesn’t reply. It’s fine, he thinks; it’s what he always does. 

He tries to forget about Liam. He forgets the way his voice sounds when he first wakes up, all smoky and hoarse, the way his skin lights up in the morning sun and the crinkles round his eyes when he laughs. He’s only known the kid a few days, Zayn reminds himself, so it won’t be hard. It’ll be just like everyone else before Liam; a distant memory, a haze of a name and a few kisses and hands buried in sheets, and then nothing. He can forget Liam, too.

And by Saturday, he almost has. He sleeps late, and when he wakes up, he’s not struck by the thought that he slept so much better with Liam in his bed. He heads out to the kitchen, and sees Niall and Louis eating off their knees on the couch. They’ve left him a plate of toast and eggs. 

“Zayn!” Niall calls when he sees him in the kitchen. “C’mere!” 

Zayn pads over to the couch, scratching the back of his neck, and sits down next to Louis when he budges over.

“What’s up?” Zayn asks, shielding his eggs from Louis.

“I’ve got a plan to get you to see Liam again,” says Niall, like he’s some kind of matchmaking genius, and Zayn should be on his knees worshipping him or something. In reality, Zayn is closer to punching him in the face. 

“I was hanging out with Harry yesterday, and he told me about this party they’re going to tonight,” Niall says smugly. “He told us we should come. And Liam will _definitely_ be there.”

“Ok, first of all, why are you spending so much time with Harry all of a sudden? And secondly, I don’t _want_ to see Liam again. It was a one time thing.” Technically two, but still.

“First of all, Zayn, I’m doing you a favour, so I you can drop the tone. Second, of course you want to see Liam again, he’s like a puppy you just wanna take home. Also, I’ve told y’already, Harry and I hanging out is none of your business.”

“Yeah, but it is kind of weird mate,” Louis says thoughtfully, putting his socked feet up on the coffee table. His legs are only just long enough. “I mean, Harry’s like a weird, health-nut muso, and you’re, like…you.” Niall spoons the last of his eggs into his mouth, then sticks his nose in the air.

“Harry is not a weird health-nut muso, he’s actually a really cool guy, and anyway, why are you trying to change the subject? Tonight is about Zayn,” says Niall, beaming over at Zayn, who shakes his head.

“I’m not going,” he says flatly, and Niall pouts. Zayn is going to need him to _not_ pull out the puppy dog eyes right now.

“But I already told Harry we’d be there,” Niall says, and his bottom lip actually trembles. Jesus Christ.

“I’m sure Harry won’t mind if I don’t show. As long as you’re there, he’ll be perfectly happy,” says Zayn, getting up to wash his plate.

“Yeah, but Liam will mind,” Niall says, and Zayn hates himself for it, but he can’t help turning around.

“Did Harry say something?” It’s out before he can stop himself. Niall raises an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face. 

Fuck.

“Not really, but someone’s interest is piqued,” Niall cackles, while Louis makes loud ‘oooooo’ing noises. Zayn hates them both.

“Louis, stay out of this, and Niall, what did Harry say?” Zayn asks. He’s already dug himself into a hole this far, he may as well jump right in. 

“Just that he hasn’t stopped talking about you like, all week,” Niall says with a shrug, picking up the Xbox controller from the coffee table. Zayn’s stomach drops.

“What…what about me?”

“Oh, you know,” Niall says nonchalantly, “it was like, the best sex he ever had, not that that’s saying much cos apparently he doesn’t have that much experience.” Zayn’s heartbeat is acting like he just ran a full marathon, because fuck, Liam definitely _acts_ like he’s got a lot of experience. 

“He _told_ you that?” Zayn asks, thinking if one of his mates gave away that kind of information about his sex life to someone he barely knew, he’d be hunting heads.

“Well, yeah, he and Harry are pretty open with that kind of stuff,” Niall says, but Zayn can tell he’s starting to feel guilty.

“And does Liam know Harry’s being ‘pretty open’ with you about his ‘stuff’?” Zayn asks, not meaning to sound threatening but kind of ending up doing it anyway. Niall turns red, then, and doesn’t turn around from where he’s choosing players for his FIFA 15 team.

“To be fair, Niall is doing you a favour,” Louis chimes in from the couch, and Zayn shoots him a death stare. It’s a sign of how long they’ve known each other that Louis doesn’t even flinch. Lesser men have been known to cower under Zayn’s glare. Zayn stalks into the kitchen, rinsing his plate with a bit too much force and chipping a little corner out of it.

If he’d known Liam wasn’t that experienced, he would never have gone anywhere near him. Because Zayn can do what he wants with his own body, always has done. He can let people touch him who have never known him, who never cared to know because all they wanted was a body. And so Zayn told himself that was all he wanted as well, another body to get him out of his own head. But Liam’s not like that. He’s smiles and sunny mornings, rough fingertips and run-on sentences, and Zayn doesn’t deserve that. All he’s got is his body, and he’s not even sure if it’s entirely his own anymore. 

He needs to stay the hell away from Liam, before he takes anything else away from him.

//

Of course he ends up going to the party. Niall begs him, because he can’t go by himself and Louis has to go to a dinner with his girlfriend’s parents for her birthday. And Zayn has a hard time saying no to Niall.

He tries to pretend he doesn’t care what he looks like, but he’s also painfully aware that he’ll no doubt be seeing Liam, and so he spends way too much time in his underwear, staring blankly into his wardrobe. Niall ends up dragging him out of their apartment by the elbow while Zayn protests that he hasn’t put on any aftershave, because they’re already running 45 minutes late.

As Zayn predicted, no one seems bothered by the fact that they’re running more-than-fashionably-late. Everyone’s slipped into their little cliques, passing round drinks or smoking up outside or fighting over the aux cord. Niall immediately cranes his neck to look for Harry, finally spotting him in a corner and dragging Zayn over.

Zayn has forgotten, of course, that Liam and Harry are practically inseparable, so as soon as they get close to Harry he’s also hit by the sight of Liam’s arms in a tank top, a baseball cap backwards on his head, talking to that other boy that lives with them – Matt or something. Zayn almost turns around to hide, but then Liam sees him, and Zayn’s caught in his gaze. 

And just like that, everything he was trying so hard to forget comes rushing back. Liam’s wide open smile that busts a hole in Zayn’s chest, the warmth in his eyes when he looks Zayn over, like he’s undressing him right there in the middle of the party. Zayn’s torn between running over and kissing the living daylights out of Liam, and running straight back to his own apartment because his heart feels too big for his chest. 

Then Niall’s walking over to the three of them, and Zayn has to follow because he refuses to look like an idiot who can’t approach someone he’s slept with and is trying to forget. 

“Heeeeeeeeeeeyy!” Harry says when he sees them, throwing his arms wide and scooping Niall up in a hug. Niall looks a little too pleased when he’s released, and Zayn raises an eyebrow at him, his mouth in a straight line. When Harry turns to Zayn for a hug, he freezes up, because Liam is staring at him with that intense, X-ray vision look, and Zayn feels a sweat break out under his leather jacket.

“Hey mate,” he says to Harry, awkwardly returning the hug and receiving an approving glance from Niall.

“Hey,” says Liam quietly, so quiet Zayn’s not sure he heard it over the music, but he looks up, managing a smile.

“Hey,” he says, keeping both hands shoved deep in his pockets so they don’t do anything stupid, like grab Liam’s stupid arms and put them around his waist.

“I hadn’t heard from you, was starting to think you were ignoring me,” Liam says with a smile, and oh god, there it is. That open trusting of people, of people like Zayn, in particular, who can’t be trusted with feelings and communication and steadiness. He’s been an asshole to Liam, but it’s the only way he can deal with the situation. It’s the only thing he knows how to do.

So he shrugs, and pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket.

“Just been busy,” he says, and watches some of the spark go out of Liam’s eyes as he registers the lie. Zayn feels like he’s just thrown himself under a moving train, so he puts the cigarette to his lips and motions towards the back door. 

“I’m going out for a smoke,” he says, and Liam nods, his face suddenly unreadable, and doesn’t follow him outside.

Zayn doesn’t want to go back to the others after his cigarette, can’t get that look in Liam’s eyes when he’d told him he was busy out of his head, so he goes into the kitchen to find a drink. If he can’t be at home in his room, he may as well be drunk, he figures. 

He realises why the rest of the party seemed so quiet, because most people have packed themselves into the kitchen, mixing drinks and kissing against the countertop or poking their heads into the fridge to find more party snacks. Zayn grabs a plastic cup off the counter and tries to elbow his way through the crowd to the keg, accidentally bumping into someone and feeling cold liquid spill down his jeans. Lucky he’d gone with black ones instead of chinos.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologises, even though he’s the one with wet jeans, looking up and seeing a wide-eyed girl with curly blonde hair.

“No, you’re fine love,” she says, “was just trying to get out of here, I’m being crushed!” Zayn can see why; she’s nearly a head shorter than most other people, hence why he’d bumped into her. 

“Here, grab my elbow,” Zayn says, figuring he’ll sort the drinks out later, and leads the small blonde out of the kitchen and into a clear space in the hallway. She smiles up at him, a little shyly, and huffs out a little breath.

“Thanks,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Perrie.”

“Zayn,” he says, taking her outstretched hand and trying not to think about long, thick fingers and brown eyes. He should really go and find Niall, but that also involves finding Liam, and he doesn’t think he can face him, he can’t look Liam in the eye and pretend he hasn’t been ignoring him. And, he thinks, if Liam was anyone but Liam, Zayn wouldn’t give a shit about being here with Perrie. He’d already be trying to get her to come home with him. And maybe that’s what Liam’s missing, what he needs to know and see about Zayn so he stays away. 

Liam deserves to know. So Zayn stays. 

He and Perrie talk about their classes – she’s taking a theatre course, which Zayn didn’t even know their uni offered, and she asks lots of questions to keep him from having to think of anything to say. He ends up going back into the kitchen to get them both a drink, and spots Harry and Niall locked in a game of beer pong on the other side of the room. 

There’s no sign of Liam, and Zayn relaxes slightly. Maybe he’s gone home; probably had some important arm-muscle exercises to do, or more interesting people to hang out with. Good, thinks Zayn. He doesn’t have to feel bad about hooking up with Perrie. Not that he’d feel bad if Liam was here. 

Because Zayn doesn’t care.

He hardly notices the time passing, talking to Perrie and going back to top up their drinks regularly. She’s funny, a bit weird and quirky, but in a way that Zayn likes, like she’s not afraid of being herself. He finds himself getting closer and closer to kissing her the more he drinks, until finally, without even thinking, he leans in and presses his lips against hers. 

His first thought is that it’s not like kissing Liam. He has to bend down, and her lips are sweet and sticky with lipstick, leaving traces on his lips he immediately wants to wipe off. But she feels good pressed against him, and her perfume makes him a little dizzy, so he puts his hand on the wall above her head, his other snaking around her waist. Her skin is so smooth, with none of the stubble that scratches Zayn’s chin when he kisses Liam, and god, he needs to stop thinking. He pulls back a little, looking down at her, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks. She bites her lip in a smile, nodding, and he kisses her again quickly. 

“I’m just gonna tell Niall I’m heading off,” Zayn says, because they have a rule about leaving without letting the other know. 

“Yeah, I should find Jesy,” Perrie says, so Zayn agrees to meet her at the front door of the apartment in five minutes. 

He can’t see Harry or Niall when he goes back into the living room, so he figures they must be outside. He heads back down the hallway to the other end of the apartment, where the door to the backyard is, and immediately spots them standing with Matt, or whoever. And Zayn has a problem. 

Liam is with them.

He should just leave, just take Perrie home and fuck her and get Liam’s hands and eyes and smell and skin out of his head for good. Niall probably wouldn’t even care; he looks more than happy with Harry, wearing his cap and laughing at some joke he’s just told.

But something makes him walk over there, stupidity or alcohol, he’s not sure which. 

And maybe, just maybe, he wants Liam to know.

“Zayn!” Niall says, pulling Zayn into a one-armed hug. “We were wondering where you’d got to.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m um, I’m heading off. I’m pretty tired,” Zayn says, though he knows everyone will see through the lie. Especially Liam, whose gaze Zayn studiously avoids. But of course, both Harry and Niall immediately look over at Liam, whose eyes are burning bright in the soft glow from inside.

“Ok,” Niall says finally, letting his arm slide off Zayn’s neck. “Have fun.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow,” Zayn says, hating himself, feeling sick to his stomach because why did he have to come out there? It looks like he’s just rubbing it in Liam’s face, like the asshole he is. 

But it’s probably better that Liam sees him for who he is, this person who takes someone different home every weekend, who doesn’t care who he hurts along the way, even when the person who usually ends up worst off is himself.

He’s walking blindly back down the hall to meet Perrie when a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

“Zayn, what are you doing?” Liam asks, and Zayn notices his eyes are burning with something pretty close to anger. Zayn takes a step back from him but ends up with his back against the wall.

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks, trying to make his voice sound annoyed but failing, because Liam’s got him trapped between his body and the wall, and there’s not enough air in Zayn’s lungs. 

“That girl,” Liam says, his voice dark. “You’re…”

“Going home with her, yeah,” Zayn says as nonchalantly as he can when Liam’s breathing heavily and still has a hand clamped on Zayn’s shoulder.

“I thought we…” Liam starts to say, and something heavy drops in Zayn’s stomach. Liam’s voice sounds off, like he’s holding something back, hurt or anger or…Zayn doesn’t know what. He’s not sure he wants to. 

“We what?” Zayn asks softly, because he’s terrified of the answer, terrified that he’s let Liam think there was something more between them. More than that, he’s terrified that there is something more between them, because Zayn can’t cope with that.

“Nothing,” Liam says, releasing Zayn’s shoulder and turning to go back outside. “Take her home, I hope you two have fun.”

“Li, wait,” Zayn says, his hand on Liam’s arm before he can stop himself. Liam turns around again, and then he’s crowding Zayn up against the wall once more, so close Zayn can feel him trembling. 

Liam searches his face, and he hopes Liam sees what Zayn wants him to see, because he’s lost the ability speak.

“Come back to mine,” Liam says, his voice flooding the space between them. 

Zayn knows he should say no. He absolutely, 100% knows without a doubt that he should go home with Perrie.

“Ok,” he sighs, because he’s an idiot.

He hates that he opens up like this with Liam, leaving so much in flux, unsure and unspoken, not knowing where he stands with Liam or where Liam stands with him. But he goes back to Liam’s apartment, lets himself be undressed, and begs Liam to fuck him until he’s moaning so loud he has to pull a pillow over his face. Because it’s just his body, he tells himself. He and Liam are just two bodies trying to find some release.

//

Zayn wakes up to the soft sound of Liam’s breath, and opens his eyes blearily to see Liam’s head on the pillow next to him. He can see the tiny veins in Liam’s eyelids, the slow rise and fall of his chest under the blankets, the goosebumps where the cool morning air touches his skin. Zayn sits up slightly, looking around at Liam’s room. It’s the first time he’s been in here, and it feels way too intimate seeing Liam’s life up close like this. Photos of him and Harry plaster the walls, as well as other friends Zayn doesn’t recognise. He sees Liam with curly hair, probably in his last year of school, then Liam with a buzzcut, maybe just after he started university. Liam in track uniform, in a Batman apron, in a ski jacket, with a girl, maybe an old girlfriend. 

Zayn feels impossibly small, like he’s not a part of this boy’s life at all, and he knows that’s what he wanted, but it’s still overwhelming to sit there and realise what a small mark he’s made on Liam’s life; on most people’s lives that he’s ever been a part of. He’s shaking as he pulls the covers back with practiced stealth and starts getting dressed, avoiding the eyes of past-Liam all over the walls. He grabs his jacket off the floor and tucks his wallet into his back pocket, and then hears Liam stir behind him.

“Trying to sneak out on me?”

Zayn turns around immediately, composing his face into practiced indifference. 

“No, was just going…to the bathroom,” Zayn says, but he’s not sure Liam believes him.

“Down the hall,” Liam says, and Zayn tries to read his tone, but it’s impossible when Liam’s voice is coated in morning hoarseness, reverberating around the room. “D’you mind bringing me back a glass of water?” 

Zayn nods, his throat dry. “Yeah, sure,” he says, staring at the carpet. He doesn’t miss the soft flash of a smile over Liam’s face, though, and feels the weight that had settled on his chest lift slightly.

He goes to the bathroom to avoid suspicion, and fills up two glasses of water in Liam’s kitchen. Their apartment layout is almost identical to his, Louis and Niall’s, even though they live in different buildings. He goes back into Liam’s room and kicks the door shut behind him, and Liam props himself further up on his pillows, moving his legs over so Zayn can sit down. He seems kind of tense, but Zayn doesn’t want to ask him why. He remembers their discussion in the hallway at the party last night, the look in Liam’s eyes, the fact that Zayn had chosen him over a pretty girl with blue eyes. 

He doesn’t want to think about what that means.

So Zayn reaches for his phone on his bedside table, and scrolls through the missed calls from Louis, snapchats from Niall, and various texts asking him “what you up to?” from numbers he hasn’t even saved. He doesn’t bother to open the messages or listen to Louis’ drunk voicemails, but he does take a screenshot of a snapchat from Niall which appears to be Harry, shirtless and grinning with his thumbs up, and the caption ‘score!! :P” He’ll need that later in case Niall tries to deny it. 

“Thanks,” Liam says as Zayn hands him the water.

“No worries mate,” he replies, and notices Liam stiffen at Zayn’s use of that word. 

“I think Niall and Harry hooked up last night,” Zayn says to fill the silence, and Liam looks up at him. 

“Niall stays here all the time.” 

Zayn raises his eyebrows; this is the first he’s heard of it. 

“Harry reckons they’re just messing about, but I think it’s probably a bit more than that. Niall likes him, doesn’t he?” 

Zayn isn’t sure why Liam’s asking him – maybe Harry had asked him to get info from Zayn, or maybe this isn’t about Harry and Niall at all. Either way, Zayn feels like he’s walking into a trap. He also realises he’s a terrible best friend, because he doesn’t even know how Niall really feels about Harry, except that he’s “actually a really cool guy.” 

“I mean, if he stays round all the time, he must like him,” Zayn says lamely, and Liam gives him a look that Zayn can’t read.

“D’you think they’d work together?” Liam asks after a pause. “Cos like, Harry’s all alty and stuff, and Niall’s pretty sporty and down to earth, like they’re so different, and…” Liam takes a large gulp of water mid-sentence, and Zayn knows he’s not just talking about Harry and Niall. 

But he’s not going there, he can’t think about Liam’s fierce loyalty and Zayn’s inability to commit to anything; Liam’s easy-going friendliness and Zayn’s stand-offish nature. Black and white, he thinks. Day and night.

“Dunno. You know what they say, opposites attract,” Zayn says, trying to keep his voice light. Liam just nods and stares down at his glass of water.

“You ok?” Zayn asks after a minute, because he can’t stand to see Liam look so strained and worried, when he’s usually a bundle of smiles. It’s like kicking a puppy, Zayn thinks. Liam glances sideways at Zayn, but his face is unreadable.

“Yeah,” Liam says, then finishes the rest of his water. “Harry’ll be making breakfast, you wanna come get some?”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Zayn says, even though he can’t even stomach the thought of food. Liam takes both their empty glasses back into the kitchen, leaving Zayn to trail behind him and wonder why he lets boys with broad chests and brown eyes under his skin when he knows they’re only going to cause problems. 

Niall and Matty are spread out on the living room floor, while Harry’s making a lot of noise and mess in the kitchen, darting around in nothing but pants and an apron. Zayn sits down next to Niall, giving him a silent fist bump and making a mental note to himself to avoid his friend once they get back to their flat, because he does not want to hear what Niall has to say about this.

After breakfast, Niall announces he and Zayn have to be getting home to study (which Zayn interprets to mean ‘have a debrief’), and because they’re all saying goodbye at the same time, Zayn doesn’t have to look at Liam or touch him, just pats Harry on the back, and tells himself that this is the last time he’ll let those brown eyes take him apart.

//

His plans to avoid Niall are thwarted as soon as he walks in the door to their flat. Louis’ obviously had prior warning, so he’s reclining on the couch with his hands behind his head and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

“Where’ve you two been?” he asks, even though he obviously knows.

“Harry’s,” Niall says, going over and plonking himself on top of Louis’ stomach. He makes grabby hands towards Zayn, and because it’s Niall, Zayn gives in way too easily, and sits further down Louis’ legs.

“Wait, who does Harry live with again?” Louis asks in fake confusion. He knows damn well who Harry lives with, the bastard.

“Matty,” Zayn says, just to be obtuse, and feels Louis wriggle underneath him so he slides off his legs, settling onto the couch cushion.

“Riiiiiiight, Matty. And someone else, some super jacked dude with a massive dick, right?”

“Louis….” Zayn says warningly, but Niall’s already cackling, so Zayn resigns himself to the next fifteen minutes of taunting.

“Louis, honestly, you should’ve been there mate,” Niall says, toeing off his shoes and resting his feet on the coffee table. “Zayn’s inside chatting up this bird right, and Liam’s outside with us and he’s all, _this party’s shit, we should go_ but it was pretty obvious why he was complaining. Anyway, then Zayn comes out to tell us that he’s off with this bird, right in front of Liam like the asshole he is, then Liam like, goes after him, and next thing I know he’s walking out of Liam’s room this morning with a _definite limp_.” 

Louis is howling, clutching Niall’s arm for support, and he even has the audacity to wipe fake tears from his eyes when he’s recovered enough to breathe properly.

“You two done?” Zayn asks irritably. 

“No, Zayn, we are not done,” Louis cackles, resting a hand on his stomach. “You’ve actually been tamed! Two weeks ago you would’ve gone home with that bird without even blinking, and last night you follow Liam home like his little puppy. What’s he got that none of the rest had?” Louis asks, and Zayn stands up abruptly. 

“Nothing,” he says, and heads for his room. 

“Oh Zayn, come on, it’s a good thing!” Niall calls, but Zayn ignores him. He doesn’t want to think about what Liam has that no one else does, because that means he’d have something Zayn wants. 

And he doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t want to think about that.

//

Zayn tries to keep his distance from Liam, declining his invitations to study together or get coffee or go and see the latest Avengers instalment at the movies. He tells himself it should be easy, it shouldn’t feel like he’s running into traffic on a daily basis when he tells Liam he’s tired, or he has to study, or when he pretends to fall asleep straight after sex so he doesn’t have to stay up until two in the morning watching Liam’s eyes light up as he talks about his sisters, what he wants to do when he finishes studying, or his latest music obsession. 

Because yes, they still sleep together, usually when Zayn’s had too much to drink and can’t resist dialling Liam’s number or when Harry comes round to see Niall and Liam tags along, and they both end up staying. But Zayn’s desperate not to let it go further than that, insisting to Niall and Louis, and most frequently himself, that it’s just a physical thing.

He’s not sure anyone’s convinced by his empty words, least of all himself.

//

Zayn looks around the room, eyes a little bleary from the joint he, Louis and Harry had smoked outside before, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd of people who always seem to populate these parties but who Zayn wouldn’t recognise if they walked past him on campus.

Who is he kidding. He’s looking for Liam, but of course Liam’s not here because he’s visiting his parents out of town for the weekend, so Zayn is stuck sitting on this sofa, picking at the label on his beer bottle and wondering when he stopped being able to pick up strangers at parties.

Then Louis’s pulling him to his feet, dragging him to the kitchen for shots, and Zayn’s vision is even more hazy after that. He sees Niall, a blur of blonde hair and white teeth, and Harry with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, hair falling in his face around a wide smile as he pulls Zayn onto the makeshift dancefloor in the middle of whoever’s living room they’re in.

There are more shots, another joint outside with Louis and Eleanor, his girlfriend, and her friends who crowd around Zayn like moths to a flame, while he tries to blink away the image of Liam’s coffee-brown eyes crinkled in a smile. 

Niall comes outside and makes everyone take a selfie together – Zayn can’t even tell who he’s standing next to or who he has his arm around, and then there are more people taking photos – Louis and Matty and one of Eleanor’s friends, a blonde who feels cold pressed up against his side with her lips on his cheek, not like Liam’s inexplicable warmth that Zayn craves more than anything else. 

He grabs Louis, tugging on his arm childishly, and nods his head towards the door.

“Hometime, Zaynie?” Louis says, and Zayn is reminded why Louis is one of his best friends, because he always knows when Zayn’s had enough. He’ll push and push, making Zayn drink and smoke until he can barely stand, like right now, but when it comes down to it, Louis doesn’t mind wrapping Zayn’s arm over his shoulders and stumbling home with him, laying him in bed with a glass of water on the bedside table and a sloppy kiss to his forehead.

“Love you,” Zayn mumbles as he hears Louis’s footsteps leaving his room.

“Love you too, Zaynie.”

//

Zayn texts Liam the next day, knowing he’s back in town because he sends Zayn a snapchat from the campus gym. And fine, maybe it makes Zayn think about the way Liam’s arms feel when they pin him to the mattress or up against the wall, and the way his muscles clench as he comes, and it’s been three days since Zayn’s seen him, ok? 

He’s pretty sure Liam sees his game, the fact that he never replies to Liam’s offers to get coffee or see a movie or study together, and only texts Liam to ask him to come over, or if he can stay at Liam’s after a party on his side of campus. But it doesn’t stop Liam from responding to Zayn’s every message, like he does now, saying he’ll shower and be right over. Zayn feels impossibly guilty, like he’s stringing Liam along, but then he figures it’s better than letting Liam getting attached to someone who isn’t worth getting attached to. 

That night, they watch a documentary that Liam’s lecturer had talked about in his economics class, and then stay up until 2am talking about conspiracies until Zayn’s eyes burn when he blinks and his head feels too heavy for his shoulders. Then Zayn looks over and sees that Liam’s fallen asleep, and something cold settles in his chest. He reaches over and pulls the blanket up over Liam’s shoulder, then rolls away from him and closes his eyes against the fear that’s consuming him.

He can’t exactly articulate what he’s afraid of – he rolls the thoughts over on his tongue while Liam lies asleep next to him, his breathing heavy and slow and melodic – it’s not fear that Liam would hurt him, or even fear that he would leave Zayn. It’s not fear that Liam isn’t right for him, or fear that things are going too fast. Because he knows, given the chance, that Liam would drop everything for him, wouldn’t think of hurting Zayn or leaving him. But there’s just…something Zayn can’t articulate, like a child afraid to sleep at night because of all the things they didn’t know that were under the bed.

It hits him like a freight train just before dawn, when he’s fighting exhaustion and Liam shifts slightly in his sleep, his fingers dragging over Zayn’s stomach as he opens and shuts his mouth a couple of times, mumbling “Zayn,” before he lies still again. 

Hearing his name escape so innocently from Liam’s lips pins Zayn to the bed like he’s trapped under a tonne of bricks. 

He’s afraid of being in love with Liam. He’s terrified of what that means, terrified of giving himself up to Liam so completely, of following him to the ends of the earth, of standing by him through anything, of trusting him despite everything. His mind can’t fathom what that means, to be so completely dedicated to Liam that he would do anything for him, would give up everything to never have to leave his side again. Zayn can’t imagine spending a day without Liam, and that thought puts an iron grip on his heart that only tightens when he pictures it – waking up alone, not having someone there to make breakfast with him and distract him with the faces he makes with his eggs and bacon or his insistence on eating cereal with a fork. Zayn can’t breathe when he realises how much he knows about Liam, about how vulnerable that makes him in his hands; and, conversely, how fragile Zayn is to him. He’s given Liam too much already, he’s let him too close, so close he could destroy Zayn’s entire world in a day, and his mind goes blank with fear at that realisation. He has to stop it, he has to close the rest of himself off from Liam somehow, has to put space between them lest they crash together so hard that both of them are left in pieces.

As soon as the sun’s up properly, Zayn slips out of bed quietly, and Liam rolls over, his arm hanging off the end of the bed. Zayn is about to leave, planning on quietly getting dressed and going home to try and get some study done, when Liam clears his throat gently. 

“You’re up early,” he mumbles, the same way he’d said Zayn’s name last night, barely comprehensible, his voice coated in sleep and honey and sticky black tar. Liam stands up, rubbing his eyes, and walks over to Zayn, who’s frozen in front of his wardrobe.

Zayn can’t take it, he can’t take how beautiful Liam is standing there in front of him, half asleep and gloriously soft. He remembers his promise to himself last night to put distance between them, and so he does the first thing his body tells him to do. 

Zayn pulls Liam roughly towards him, reaching up to press his mouth against Liam’s without pretence about where he’s going with the kiss. Liam makes a little noise into Zayn’s mouth, and that’s all he needs to let go. He slides his hands over Liam’s chest, pulling at his nipples and feeling him wake up with every touch. Liam’s hands go to Zayn’s hair as he draws breath from Zayn’s mouth, pressing him harder into the wardrobe door. Zayn feels Liam’s entire body lean into him, all warmth and softness and no, he wants rough, he wants hard, he doesn’t want tenderness and kisses and love. That’s what he needs to protect himself from. 

Zayn pulls his mouth off Liam’s, hears his whine of protest, but it soon turns into a sound of approval as Zayn bites at his neck, leaving marks, feeling Liam’s dick rise against his stomach as she did so.

“Zayn,” Liam breathes into his ear, and it’s different from the way Liam said it in his sleep, it’s desperate and longing and exactly what Zayn needs to hear. With the hand that isn’t holding on to the back of his neck, Zayn grabs hold of Liam’s cock, hearing the little choked sound of surprise as he does so and yes, this is what he wants, control, something he can dictate. Zayn licks off the bite he’s been making on Liam’s neck and finds his lips, already open in desire from the movement of Zayn’s hand. He nips at Liam’s bottom lip, feels his hand slide from the back of Zayn’s head down his back and over his ass, and Zayn rocks his hips against Liam’s, keeping the movement of his fingers rhythmic and steady. Zayn can forget about everything else and just focus on Liam’s body, the way it feels against his, and those little sounds he keeps making in Zayn’s ear which make foreplay seem like a total waste of time. But then Liam’s fingers are pulling at the waistband of Zayn’s pants, and ok, maybe foreplay isn’t completely a waste of time. Maybe he could let Liam take off his pants and push his legs apart and slip his fingers down behind his balls, and make Zayn’s skin so hot all over that he thinks he’s going to burst into flames. 

“You wanna play rough?” Liam rasps in his ear, his voice devastated by the grip Zayn still has on him and the way Zayn’s turning into a mess of burning flesh under Liam’s touch. He’s guessed the game, Zayn thinks, but at least he’s willing to play along. 

“Yeah,” he manages as Liam moves his fingers faster, making him feel like he’s going to spontaneously combust. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Liam groans against his neck in response, and stumbles over to the bedside table to grab a condom, barely giving Zayn time to turn around to put his hands against the door before Liam’s on him again, not letting Zayn get himself together before he pushes inside him, filling Zayn’s head with nothing but Liam’s name and the feeling of being nothing but a body – no feelings, no pressure, no words. He kisses Liam with every ounce of his being, kisses him until it means nothing.

**// LIAM //**

It’s just a game to Zayn, Liam thinks to himself for the thousandth time as he wakes up on Saturday morning, warm and aching from fucking Zayn into the mattress last night. 

They’re playing a game of cat and mouse, and Liam is most definitely the mouse, caught up in Zayn’s claws, unable to escape. Every time, Liam tells himself it’ll be the last. And every time Zayn texts him, or catches his eye from across a party filled with people Liam can’t stand, he’s pulled back into Zayn’s orbit, like he’s the moon and Liam’s a helpless wave crashing against the shore.

He rolls over and sees Zayn hovering by his window, like he often does in the morning. It’s like he hates staying in bed with Liam longer than he has to – he’s always the first up, getting ready for early classes Liam knows he doesn’t really have or sneaking out of Liam’s room before Liam wakes up.

“You’re up early,” Liam mumbles, because he doesn’t want Zayn to leave this time. It’s fairly obvious Zayn doesn’t want to stay, but that doesn’t stop Liam from being selfish and almost reaching out to pull Zayn back into bed. 

Zayn doesn’t answer, just stares at Liam as he stretches and stands up, and Liam feels vulnerable under his gaze. Not because he’s completely naked, but because Zayn looks at him so fiercely sometimes Liam feels like he’s looking into his soul.

Then without warning Zayn grabs him, pulling him close so that their chests collide and meeting Liam’s mouth desperately. Liam makes a noise of surprise against Zayn’s lips, which only makes Zayn kiss him harder. Liam’s barely been awake thirty seconds and he’s already hard, because he’s used to taking the lead with Zayn, who likes being told what to do, likes Liam to be rough.

But now it’s Zayn being rough, rolling Liam’s nipples between his fingers and catching Liam’s bottom lip with his teeth. Liam’s breathless already, taken aback by Zayn’s sudden instigation, and he anchors his hands in Zayn’s hair, pulling through the long strands almost comfortingly. Zayn whines and pulls his lips off Liam’s; Liam makes a whine of protest until his feels Zayn’s mouth, hot and wet, on his neck, his teeth grazing the skin until they find the most sensitive spot and sink in. Liam gasps, his grip on Zayn’s hair tightening slightly as Zayn suckles just below Liam’s birthmark, leaving a bruise that Liam is going to have no way of covering up.

“Zayn,” Liam breathes, wanting to warn him that he doesn’t want to wear a scarf for the next three days, but instead of removing his teeth from Liam’s neck, Zayn reaches between them and takes Liam in his hand, gathering the precum building on Liam’s tip to slide his hand down his length. Liam feels his voice die in his throat as he chokes on his warning, and he feels Zayn’s lips leave his neck briefly before he’s lifting his head to kiss Liam messily. 

Liam opens his mouth wider, wanting to taste Zayn, savour him, devour him. He runs his hand down Zayn’s back to trace the curve of his ass and feels Zayn buck up against him. His hand is working furiously over Liam’s cock, knowing just when to flick his wrist and make Liam moan in Zayn’s ear. His fingers find the top of Zayn’s pants and he slips them down over Zayn’s cock, taking a minute to glance down and see how hard and full he is. But he ignores that, running his fingers over Zayn’s balls instead, reaching behind to trace around Zayn’s hole. Now it’s Zayn’s turn to moan into Liam’s collarbone as he gently rubs his finger a little more firmly, knowing he’s only teasing until he can bear to pull away from Zayn to grab some lube. He’s starting to regain control of the situation, thank god, as Zayn turns to molten lava under his insistent touches.

“You wanna play rough?” Liam rasps in his ear, deciding to forego the lube and slide his fingers into Zayn’s mouth instead, making sure they’re completely slicked with spit before he moves them back down between Zayn’s legs, gently pushing one finger past Zayn’s first ring of muscle. He strikes up a smooth rhythm, trying to keep pace with the way Zayn’s hand moves up and down his cock.

“Yeah – fuck,” Zayn moans into his ear as Liam slides another finger inside him, feeling Zayn’s muscles contract around it. “Want you to fuck me,” Zayn pleads. 

Liam’s mind goes blank, and he has to physically stop himself from coming all over Zayn’s hand as reminds himself this isn’t how he wants it to end. He gently pulls his fingers out of Zayn and turns towards his bedside table, fumbling for a condom and rolling it on with shaking fingers. Zayn’s already got his back to him, his hands up against Liam’s wardrobe door, his hips tilted back and eyes closed, and Liam almost loses it right there on the spot, seeing Zayn so ready and willing for him, his muscles clinging tight to the bone and chest rising and falling quickly. Liam spits on his hand and rubs it up and down his dick before slowly pushing inside Zayn, feeling him tense up against Liam’s body.

Usually dirty talk is one of Liam’s strongpoints, but he’s physically lost for words as he fucks into Zayn, wrapping one arm across his chest so their bodies are pressed flush together and using the other arm to steady himself on Zayn’s hip. All other thoughts leave his mind except Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, until he feels Zayn’s hand go to his own cock and stroke himself through his orgasm. Liam thinks Zayn’s name tumbles from his lips as he comes, but it’s hard to tell through the blissful fog that’s clouding his head and the sound of skin on skin. 

When Liam comes to his senses, he gently pulls out of Zayn and turns him round to face him, kissing him with both hands on Zayn’s cheeks, putting all the words that have momentarily left him into the kisses. He kisses Zayn until he’s sure he knows how Liam feels, kisses him until he can’t breathe, kisses him until it means something. 

//

After Zayn’s gone home, dressing quietly while Liam throws out the condom and offers Zayn a cloth to wipe himself clean, Liam stretches out on his bed and falls into his thoughts. 

He knows Zayn isn’t serious about him. He can see it in the way Zayn avoids his eyes after they fuck – Liam hates using that word but he can’t bring himself to say ‘make love’, because that wouldn’t be true either. He knows, because Zayn never agrees to meet up with him unless there’s sex involved, always saying he’s too busy, too tired, or just ignoring Liam altogether. Liam knows he’s probably going to get hurt – even Harry has told him as much – because Zayn’s going to walk away just when Liam’s too far gone for him to recover.

The thing is, it would be so easy to give up on Zayn if Liam wasn’t attracted to literally everything else about him, apart from the sex. The way his voice sounds in the morning when he first wakes up, the way he mumbles in his sleep and curls his fingers around Liam’s wrist. The glimpses Liam sees of his intelligence, when Zayn’s in an argument with Niall or Louis and cuts them down with one word that Liam’s never heard in his life, and later secretly goes to look up in a dictionary. The colour of his eyes, which Liam hasn’t quite decided whether they’re amber or teak coloured, and the way he always tastes like spearmint because of the gum he chews after every cigarette. 

It would be so easy to walk away from Zayn, to avoid his eye at parties where they keep running into each other, or to delete his number, if Liam didn’t fall so goddamn hard for everyone he meets. It’s not like he’s even known Zayn that long – the conversations they’ve had between awkward eye contact across crowded rooms and desperate kisses could be counted on one of Liam’s hands – but even so, Liam knows Zayn has three sisters, his favourite movie is Iron Man, he wants to write for an art magazine and his favourite dish is his mum’s lamb curry, but he’ll eat it from the shop when he misses home. They’re all such small, trivial things, things Liam probably wouldn’t even remember if it were Niall, or Louis, or Matty or the girl Danielle from his Statistics class who tries to slip him her number every week. But with Zayn, Liam holds onto them desperately, even though he knows they’re only going to hurt him eventually, turn to shards of glass in his hands and leave tiny cuts that take too long to heal. 

//

Ok, so maybe Liam shouldn’t have seen the photo in the first place. Maybe he was stalking Zayn, so it’s his own fault that he’s staring at his phone screen like he’s seen a ghost. 

He’d been scrolling through Instagram – ok, Zayn’s Instagram – ok, a girl who’s liked every one of Zayn’s photos’ Instagram. Her feed is mostly selfies with her friends – including Louis’s girlfriend Eleanor, which Liam guesses is how she knows Zayn – all as pretty as her (Liam can admit it ok, he’s jealous, not blind), with photos of her puppy thrown in for variety.

Then, from a couple of weeks ago, there’s a picture of her and Zayn. Judging by his brief calculations, Liam guesses it was taken the weekend he was out of town visiting his parents, and somehow, that makes the whole thing worse. 

It looks like they’re at a party, judging by the dim lighting and the slightly blurred edges of their faces, but Liam can see that Zayn’s arm is around her, and she’s kissing his cheek while Zayn smiles, his eyes hooded and soft. He looks happy, which is probably the worst part for Liam – not the fact that he’s receiving a kiss on the cheek from someone else or the fact that she’s captioned it “when u and bae on fleek” with a kissy face emoji, the winking-tongue-out emoji, and a peace sign. 

Liam has no idea what ‘fleek’ even means, but he is familiar with the term ‘bae’, and it makes his stomach twist seeing it on a photo of Zayn. He thinks about looking up ‘fleek’ on urban dictionary in case it’s something sexual, but even if it is…Liam doesn’t know. He wants to say he’d cut things off with Zayn, delete his number, unfollow him, unfriend him, whatever it takes to remove a person from your life these days, but then he thinks about Zayn, the real Zayn, not the one on his screen, who mumbles in his sleep and has a pile of dog-eared comics next to his bed. Liam might want to throw his phone at the nearest wall right now (or create a fake Instagram account to comment something disparaging on @katiexclemens photo), but he’s not sure he’s ready to lose the smell of Zayn on his pillowcase after he sneaks out in the morning, or the taste of his skin that lingers on Liam’s lips even after he’s left.

Harry interrupts his train of thought by flopping down in the seat next to him, running a hand through his curls. He looks at Liam accusingly, which Liam thinks is hardly fair. He hasn’t done anything.

“Spit it out, mate,” Harry says as Liam locks his phone screen guiltily. 

“Spit what out?” Liam asks, feigning innocence and turning back to his study notes that he hasn’t looked at in the last half hour. 

“Whatever it is you’re having an internal freak-out about right now,” Harry says, and Liam wishes Harry didn’t know him so well, because it would be really nice to have just one secret once in a while.

“I’m not having an internal freak-out,” Liam says defensively. 

“Ok,” Harry says mildly, and pulls out his phone to start scrolling through something. Liam gulps as his mind flicks back to that girl’s Instagram, but he tries to focus on his work, blocking Harry out as he starts to hum irritatingly. 

“Are you going to sit there and distract me until I tell you what it is?” Liam says finally, throwing his pen down in frustration. Harry throws him his most evil grin, and nods. Liam rolls his eyes. 

“Fine. But it’s not – I wasn’t having a meltdown, ok? I’m just….curious about something.” Harry shrugs.

“Fine. Shoot.”

“What does ‘on fleek’ mean?” he asks, and then regrets it immediately as Harry’s lips quirk up in a grin.

“Grandad,” Harry teases, and Liam kicks him under the table. “It means, like, something’s on point.” 

Liam stares blankly at him; he’s never heard that expression either.

“Like, top form.” Finally, Liam nods.

“So it’s not like….sexual,” Liam says, his neck feeling warm as Harry laughs at him.

“Not that I know of, although…..” Harry pauses thoughtfully, for almost thirty seconds before he shakes his head. “No.”

Liam nods, looking back down at his notes, which still swim vaguely in front of his eyes as he pictures Zayn and Katie Clemens, arms around each other for a photo, close and slightly tipsy, Zayn’s fingers wandering down to her –

“Why’d you think it was sexual?” Harry asks, and Liam shrugs, the flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Is this about Zayn?” Harry asks gently, and Liam glares at him.

“No,” he says defensively, “why would it be about Zayn?”

“Because you were staring at your phone like you’d just matched with the literal devil on tinder when I sat down, you haven’t written a word since I got here, and you just asked me if ‘on fleek’ was something sexual,” Harry says, but he’s not being smug. That’s one of the things Liam loves most about Harry – he can be a smarmy asshole when he wants to be, but not when it matters.

Slumping in his chair, Liam silently unlocks his phone and passes it to Harry with the photo still up on his screen. 

Harry raises his eyebrows sympathetically at Liam, who groans internally. He’d half hoped Harry would tell him he was overreacting, but judging by his expression Liam’s jealousy is justified. 

“Whoops, may have just hit the like button,” Harry says, and Liam’s heart thuds in panic as he snatches his phone back, looking frantically at the screen. The heart button is still white in the centre though, and he glares at Harry as his heart slows to its normal pace. He takes back what he said about Harry not being a smarmy asshole when it mattered.

“Sorry,” Harry says, but his face says otherwise, “it was too easy.”

Liam scowls at him for another few seconds before his desperation takes over his annoyance.

“What do I do?” he asks. 

Harry should be an expert in this: he once had a relationship that played out almost exclusively via Instagram. Liam never quite understood how it worked, but the guy, Nick, had been devastated when Harry eventually unfollowed him.

“You have two options,” Harry says sagely. “Ask him about it, which involves admitting that you visited the Instagram feed of someone you don’t know to find the photo, or say nothing, which involves you agonising over this for the next three days until Zayn lets you fuck him again.”

Liam wrinkles his nose at Harry’s crudeness, but he also knows that he’s probably right. Liam could barely admit seeing the photo to Harry, so how is he going to explain it to Zayn? He resigns himself to a few more days of agony and avoiding the like button on a stranger’s Instagram.

“Come on,” Harry says, picking up his bag, which he hasn’t even taken his books out of. “You’re not going to get any more work done, and we could both use a drink.” 

Liam raises a an eyebrow at him. “It’s 3pm on a Thursday.” 

Harry shrugs. “Your point?” 

Liam concedes, and packs up his neglected books and notes, reminded why Harry’s his best friend as he steers the two of them out of the library, towards the pub. 

A few pints later and he still can’t get the picture out of his mind. It’s stupid, he knows, it probably means nothing – Zayn hasn’t even liked the photo (although he did follow Katie back; Liam checked). But Liam’s tipsy, and sobriety is kind of responsible for 90% of his impulse control. So he waits until Harry goes to the bathroom before he pulls out his phone and sends Zayn a quick text asking if he minds a visit later tonight.

Zayn obviously doesn’t read anything serious into Liam’s text, because he responds almost immediately with “sure ;)”

Liam leaves before Harry even gets back from the loos.

//

He feels completely idiotic when he gets to Zayn’s. He’d planned, on his semi-drunken walk to Zayn’s apartment, what to say: bring the photo up casually, ask Zayn who the girl was, and gauge his reaction. But then he’s standing in Zayn’s doorway, and Zayn’s right there, shirtless with his trackie bottoms slung low across his hips, which really shouldn’t be allowed. And he looks at Liam like he knows what Liam’s here for, what he’s always here for, from under his lashes and his hooded eyelids with a sly quirk at the corner of his beautiful mouth. Liam wants to kiss him until he forgets about bloody Instagram and bloody Katie Clemens. 

But something, probably a mixture of stupidity and beer, makes him duck away from Zayn’s greeting kiss. If Zayn notices something’s off, he doesn’t say anything, just holds Liam’s gaze for a miniscule instant, then beckons him inside with a shoulder, heading straight for his bedroom. Liam can hear the TV in the living room, and he’s glad he’s not going to have to make small talk with Louis and Niall tonight – if he delays this conversation any longer it’s never going to happen.

“Sup?” Zayn asks once they’re in his room, as he flops on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. Liam tries to ignore the way his body looks so stretched and lean like that, his olive skin taut across his stomach muscles and ribcage. He swallows, hard.

“Not much. Jus’ been having a drink with Harry.” Zayn nods.

“How is he?”

“Fine. He – he um, showed me something I wanted to ask you about.” It’s a lie that Liam hopes Zayn doesn’t see through, but it’s the only way he can think of bringing up the photo without making himself sound like an absolute nutter. Zayn, for his part, simply raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it was – stupid, really. Just something on Instagram he saw. One of Eleanor’s friends, with – with you.” Zayn frowns slightly, almost imperceptibly, and Liam can tell his own face is on fire but he may as well finish what he started.

“With me? Like, a photo?” Liam nods, his throat constricting too tight for words. Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to bring this up?

“Yeah, I mean, I guess it’s nothing, it’s just – I didn’t know you really hung out with….those girls,” he finishes lamely, unable to meet Zayn’s eye.

“I didn’t know it was your business who I hang out with,” Zayn retorts, and Liam’s head shoots up at that. Zayn’s never been harsh with him like that, and while he still looks languid and lazy on the bed, there’s a challenge in the set of his jaw that Liam isn’t sure he’s willing to meet.

“No, I guess you’re right,” he manages, turning to leave. He got the answer he came looking for – not how the photo happened or who Katie Clemens is, which, he supposes, wasn’t really his concern all along. He came to find out what he means to Zayn, which, clearly, is next to nothing.

“Wait, that’s it? You’re leaving?” Zayn asks, and Liam turns to see him sitting up in bed. He shrugs again, feeling stupid and humiliated and wanting to be curled up under his comforter with his bitter thoughts and insecurities. 

“Don’t see much point in staying,” Liam says, and he thinks, maybe, Zayn flinches. He feels an iota of strength come back to him.

“You came all the way over here to ask me about an Instagram photo?” Zayn says, and the familiar smirk is back on his face.

“Yeah, and I got the answer I was looking for,” Liam says, his voice coming out more bitter than he’d intended. Zayn looks genuinely surprised, and Liam wonders for a minute if he’s actually thick, if he thinks saying something like “it’s none of your business who I hang out with” is something normal to say to the person you’ve been sleeping with for the last six months.

It sounds so cheap when you put it like that, Liam thinks. Zayn is so much more to him than someone he’s been sleeping with. 

But, he reminds himself forcefully, that’s all Liam is to Zayn, so he picks up his bag where he’d dropped it next to Zayn’s desk when he came in, and slings it over his shoulder.

“I don’t get it, Liam,” Zayn says, because he’s a stubborn little shit. Well, two can play that game, Liam thinks. “What answer were you looking for?” He looks at Liam like he genuinely has no clue, and it makes Liam’s anger bubble up to the surface.

“That I don’t mean shit to you,” Liam bites out. “I ask you a simple question and you suddenly get defensive and basically tell me I have no place in your life. Sure, it’s just a photo, but it was just a question. It was stupid of me to come here, I’m sorry,” Liam says. 

“I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re asking,” Zayn says. And Liam wasn’t asking, but it doesn’t make him feel much better.

“Good to know,” he says, his voice strained, and Zayn stands up, walking over to him. God, he’s so beautiful, Liam thinks, close to breaking. The tattoos that scatter his skin stand out starkly in the dim light, his almond shaped eyes that shine in Liam’s direction, the long sinew of his torso that Liam knows by heart now. 

“What do you want from me?” Zayn asks quietly, and Liam honestly doesn’t know what to tell him. He could say anything – trust, loyalty, commitment – but all of that is too big, and the only thing he can think with Zayn standing there shirtless and golden is _you you you_ , so he drops his bag to the floor and closes the gap between him and Zayn in one step. He kisses Zayn with both his hands on Zayn’s cheeks, their chests pressed flush together, and he feels Zayn tense for the briefest moment before he relaxes, opening his mouth to let Liam in. Zayn’s breath is hot in his mouth, and he rolls his hips against Liam’s as Liam moves his hand down to Zayn’s lower back, grabbing handfuls of soft, warm skin and coaxing Zayn’s mouth open further as he palms the slight curve of Zayn’s ass. 

“This what you want?” Zayn breathes in between kisses, and Liam pushes him, a little roughly, over to the bed, unzipping his jeans. 

“Yeah,” he says, telling himself it’s true. If this is all he can have with Zayn, he’ll take it, he thinks, as he buries himself in the expanse of Zayn’s skin and the warmth of his breath around him. 

Afterwards, Liam gets dressed and leaves. If that’s how Zayn wants it, then Liam can give it to him. Even if it hurts, every step of the way home. Even if he wants to go and bury his face in Harry’s pillow and rant about how much he loves this boy who doesn’t want to love him back. Even though he knows he’d do it again, for Zayn.

//

Liam, Matty and Harry are getting ready to head out a couple of weeks later, Matty taking too long in the bathroom as usual, and Harry walking round in his pants complaining that he’s got nothing to wear when his wardrobe’s literally spilling onto his floor. He ends up borrowing one of Liam’s tee shirts, and Liam has to watch him struggle into his ridiculously tight jeans in the living room because, apparently, Harry’s room is not a place for getting changed. Finally, Matty emerges from the bathroom, and they all head out the door, grabbing their slabs of beer on the way.

It’s all banter as they walk across the campus to the apartment block where the party’s being held – Liam can’t keep up with all of the people Harry is friends with, the people who always invite him to their parties, people Liam has never even heard of. He just drifts along behind the other two, laughing at Harry’s jokes and nodding sympathetically at Matty’s existential rants, but never feeling like he really has anything to contribute himself. Besides, who wants to talk about global economy and trade partnerships on a Saturday night? 

That’s why, Liam thinks as he trails slightly behind Harry and Matty, he’s so drawn to Zayn. Liam’s always been ordinary, so unexceptional that people often seem to just forget about him, but Zayn stares at Liam from across crowded rooms like he’s interesting and attractive and complex, and all those other words that Zayn’s so good with but that have never applied to Liam, that he’s never known how to use. 

They get to the party, and it’s a pretty quiet affair, the boys congregated in the kitchen around the keg and the girls, still shy and tightly crowded around each other, in the living room, looking at Harry, Matty, and – as an afterthought – Liam as they walk in. 

The first person Liam notices is Niall, his shock of peroxide blonde hair sticking out of the crowd of boys in the kitchen, and his loud voice booming out across the room. He watches Harry’s whole body light up, his back straighten and his chin lift, and if Harry didn’t have his back to Liam, he knows he’d be able to see his smile, slow and shy but growing wider as he meets Niall’s eyes. Liam feels a little emptier than when he walked in, knowing that what Harry and Niall have is so simple – they both want the same thing, they’re comfortable with each other, they fit.

Whereas Liam and Zayn are complicated, all unspoken words and awkward mornings where Zayn usually leaves before Liam wakes up, and late night texts that Liam wishes he didn’t always reply to. 

And he should’ve known that wherever Niall goes, Zayn goes too, but it still hits him hard in the chest when he sees Zayn’s mop of dark hair, the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at Niall, the long sweep of his eyelashes that Liam can pick out, one by one, even from the other side of the room. 

Harry looks over his shoulder at Liam with a smirk.

“Guess we know who you’re going home with tonight, Li,” he says, and Liam stops dead in his tracks. He knows Harry only means it as banter, a friendly jest – he also knows that Harry’s probably right. But it’s the way he says it, like it’s a sure thing, like Liam’s a sure thing, that makes him pause, that makes him stop while the others go over to the kitchen to greet Niall and Zayn, and whoever’s actually throwing this party.

He feels eyes on him, knows that they’re probably Zayn’s, and he feels sick, so he asks one of the girls where the bathroom is, and walks down the hall where she directs him, slamming the door behind him. 

He stares in the mirror, taking in the flush in his cheeks and the bright spot in his eyes. He doesn’t recognise himself, this person who gets crazy over a boy, a boy who doesn’t spare a thought for Liam except when he’s lonely and horny, or when he can’t pull anyone else at a party. He’s more than that, Liam tries to tell his reflection; he deserves someone who makes time for him at three in the afternoon as well as at midnight. He’s more than an easy lay, more than a number in Zayn’s phone he calls when he needs something from Liam, he’s more than a breath between two words. Just as he’s about to tell himself to walk out of there and go home, work on his assignments or call his mum or jerk off, the door opens behind him and Zayn walks in. 

All Liam’s resolve crumbles in that moment, because Zayn looks genuinely concerned, his face all creases and angles. Liam wants to hate him, he really, really does, but he can’t when he looks like that, his hair pushed out of his face and his eyes bright with worry. 

“You ok?” Zayn asks, and Liam thinks about saying he’s fine, pushing past Zayn and walking out. It would be so easy, he tells himself, but his legs won’t seem to move. 

“No, I’m not ok,” Liam says, and once he’s started, the words just don’t seem to stop. “I’m not a sure thing, ok? I’m not someone you take home and fuck because you’re bored, or you can’t find anyone else to go home with, or whatever. I don’t do casual, Zayn, I do fucking intense and if you can’t handle that then that’s fine, but if that’s the case then just – leave me the fuck alone, please, because I’m so fucking weak when it comes to you.”

Liam thinks that’s the most he’s ever said around Zayn the entire time they’ve known each other, and judging by the look of shock on Zayn’s face, it’s the most he’s heard out of Liam’s mouth as well. Liam wants to take it all back, wants to slap himself across the mouth because he’s so fucking stupid. He’s standing in front of the most gorgeous person he’s seen in his entire life, and telling him to leave Liam the fuck alone.

“I don’t –“ Zayn says, and Liam wants to disappear into the floor, become a droplet of water on the bathroom tiles, because Zayn is looking at him with something like guilt in his eyes. And it’s Liam’s fault. 

“Forget it, forget I ever said anything,” Liam says, bowing his head and walking past Zayn towards the door. Then he feels a hand on his elbow, and he’s brought back to the night Zayn had left with Liam instead of a pretty girl, and he turns around.

“I’m not – I’m sorry, ok? I’m rubbish at this, really rubbish, I haven’t – I don’t really….do this.” Zayn’s hand is still on Liam’s arm, and it’s all Liam can focus on, the pressure of Zayn’s fingers on his bicep sending warmth through his veins.

“I know,” Liam says, and he doesn’t mean it to come out bitter but it sort of does.

“I just – I don’t do feelings and shit because I’m not the kind of person people get attached to, y’know? It’s easier to leave than be left, and so that’s what I’ve always done, and I guess I’ve never – I never thought about it from the other side. I am sorry, Liam.” 

Liam brings his hand up to Zayn’s shoulder and pulls at the sleeve of his tee shirt.

“I’m attached to you,” he says quietly. 

Zayn stares at him like he’s just sprouted a third head, and Liam thinks maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. Just because he’s the one always searching for attachment – no, actually, for love – in all the wrong places, doesn’t mean Zayn is too. In which case….something heavy drops into Liam’s stomach, at the thought of having to walk away because they both want different things. Zayn wants something skin deep, and Liam….Liam wants to know Zayn so well he could climb into his body and zip up his skin. But he feels like that’s probably not the right thing to say right now either, seeing as Zayn is looking at Liam like he’s, to quote one of Liam’s favourite movies, a kraken from the sea. 

“You…..what?” Zayn says, confirming Liam’s suspicion that Zayn is decidedly freaked out right now. Liam considers backpedalling, telling Zayn he didn’t mean it and that he doesn’t want to see him again, but he’s sick of lying. He’s sick of pretending that hooking up with Zayn is all he wants, that he doesn’t think about just falling asleep with Zayn and not worrying that he’ll been gone in the morning, nothing but rumpled sheets and a small dent in the mattress to show he was ever really there. Liam clears his throat.

“I’m attached to you,” Liam says again, his voice louder. “Meaning, I like you. In a way that makes me want to date you, not just screw around with you on weekends. It probably sounds crazy because we haven’t known each other that long, but there it is. That’s just how I feel.” 

The silence in the bathroom feels physical, like Liam and Zayn are underwater and the pressure is building up in Liam’s ears. Zayn blinks at him incredulously, but still says nothing to break the quiet in the room. Hating the way that even his breathing echoes off the tiles, Liam starts talking again.

“I mean, I get that you don’t usually do serious relationships, because you think you’re too broken or whatever and people aren’t going to like you. You’re afraid of fucking things up because you don’t trust your feelings or whatever. But…I think this could be really great – we could be really great – if you just let me in.” Liam feels out of breath, like he’s just run a marathon, even though he’s barely said two sentences. 

“You think you know me?” Zayn says, and the harsh bite in his voice makes Liam take a step back, feeling the bathroom counter press into the back of his thighs. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” Zayn continues. “I’m not some – some little project of yours, some broken thing that you have to come along and fix.” Liam can see Zayn practically vibrating with anger, and he feels like he’s a heartbeat away from shattering.

“I don’t know you,” Liam says softly, “because you won’t let me.”

“Fine. You want to know?” Zayn says, and Liam nods carefully, bracing himself for whatever he’s about to hear. He can’t imagine anything that Zayn is about to say will change the way that Liam feels when Zayn’s two feet away from him, eyes shining and chest rising and falling quickly. Like there’s not enough oxygen in the room, like his feet aren’t quite touching the ground, like his heart’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’ve slept with more people than I can count. I don’t even remember half of their names, or what they looked like, but I did it…because I could I guess. It’s the only way I could feel close to people, because whenever I tried to tell them how I felt about them they’d just drift away. They weren’t interested in getting to know me, and why should they? I’m a pretty face, sure, but nothing more than that. So I learned pretty quickly to just ignore the feelings, push them down until I couldn’t remember what it was like to feel anything. And it’s worked, it’s been working fine, until you – you had to come along and bring me dinner and stay the night and everything else that people don’t do around me. And I dunno, I didn’t…..I didn’t mean to freeze you out, but I just don’t know how to act around you. Like I said, I’m not good at it. It’s not because I’m broken, like you think, that I need someone to save me, it’s just because….I’m scared of getting hurt, I guess. You get fucked around one too many times, you learn to not make the same mistakes again.” 

“You think I’m not scared of getting hurt?” Liam says softly, trying to keep his voice low to placate Zayn. The last thing he wants to do is upset him any more, and he can tell how hard it is for Zayn to have this conversation with him. But Liam doesn’t want him to close himself off again, because he’s starting to see chinks of light through the wall that Zayn’s put up around himself, and Liam wants to see it crumble. 

“Everybody on earth is scared of getting hurt,” Liam says. “Harry is. Niall is. Hell, even Louis probably is, though he wouldn’t tell you on pain of death. But it doesn’t mean that you don’t let yourself have something good out of fear of losing it.” Liam’s not sure he’s being particularly eloquent, but Zayn’s expression is slowly starting to change, from angry and defensive to a little more lost and confused. Like what Liam’s saying is making sense, but he doesn’t want it to. 

“I know that, I just –“ 

“It’s self-preservation, it’s natural,” Liam says, because he’s not sure he can listen to another string of excuses of why Zayn doesn’t feel anything for Liam. “I can’t force you to want something you don’t want,” Liam says, “so if you don’t want this….thing to go any further, it’s fine.” 

He’s about to tell Zayn he will walk out right now and never text Zayn again, that he won’t try to see him again any chance he gets, but he’s not sure he can lie like that without his voice breaking or something in his face gives him away. 

He’s waiting for Zayn to tell him he should go, that he’s not ready to let his defences down for Liam, and the lyrics for some song that Harry always plays come to his mind, _make sure you kiss you knuckles before you punch me in the face_.

But it doesn’t look like Zayn’s going to say anything, so Liam braces himself and takes a long look at Zayn, the light stubble grazing his chin, the sharpness of his cheekbones against his soft lips and eyelashes, takes a mental photograph so he can look at it, sometimes, when it’s late and he’s thinking about things that could’ve been. 

“Ok. I’m gonna go,” Liam says, and he hates how rough his voice sounds. He walks past Zayn, the aroma of cigarettes, spearmint and Gucci perfume clouding the air around him, and Liam almost chokes because that smell has become so familiar, just in the last six months, that he thinks he’d recognise it anywhere.

“Wait,” Zayn says, and Liam turns around, coming face to face with Zayn. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Zayn says, and Liam can hear in his voice, see in the twist of his mouth that it’s hard for him to say. “I want – I’ve wanted more with you for ages, but, like I said, I was scared. I’m still scared, if I’m honest, but I think – I think because you get it, you understand where I’m coming from, I could handle doing….this.” 

Liam’s heart is doing cartwheels and somersaults around his chest, but he tries to compose his face because he wants Zayn to know how serious he is about this. About not wanting to hurt Zayn, about wanting him to know how good it can feel to let yourself fall for somebody. 

“Yeah?” Liam says, his voice barely audible because he’s scared if he speaks above a whisper, his voice will come out as a series of garbled shrieks. 

_Zayn wants this too_ , he thinks, _he wants more than late night texts and sneaking out in the morning_. 

Zayn nods, and Liam can see the hint of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. He leans in to kiss it, the outer edge of his lips, and as he presses their chests together he can feel Zayn’s heart thud in his ribcage. 

“We can do this slow,” Liam says, because he feels like that’s the right thing to say right now, with Zayn nervous and shaking slightly in front of him. To Liam’s utter surprise, Zayn smirks.

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” he says, and Liam can’t help but snort, because yeah, it probably is. 

“Ok, yeah,” Liam says, putting his arms around Zayn’s waist because he can. “But like, just however you want, we can do this your way.” Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve just said? ‘My way’ is running a mile in the other direction as soon as I get even a hint of feelings for someone. I’m fairly sure we should be doing this your way.” Liam smiles, something warm settling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I guess the first thing, then, would be to go on an actual date.” 

Liam’s been wanting to take Zayn out ever since they met, has planned at least seven different outings, ranging from getting coffee on campus to hot air ballooning over Paris. Zayn’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at Liam, and Liam wants to push Zayn up against the bathroom counter and kiss him until he can’t breathe, because no one should be allowed to look that cute, ever.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Zayn says, and leans in to kiss Liam, soft and chaste, like he’s never kissed Liam before. It feels more intense to Liam than any of the open-mouthed, desperate, messy kisses they’ve shared, even though their lips are barely touching and Liam can feel Zayn smiling against his mouth. It’s a kiss that means something, Liam thinks.

**// SIX MONTHS LATER //**

Liam walks in to se Zayn drooling onto his pillow, his laptop resting on his hips and his headphones still plugged in. He’s got one hand on his chest, rising and falling softly with his breath, and when Liam gets closer he sees House of Cards is still playing.

Gently, he takes the headphones out of Zayn’s ears and picks the laptop up off his hips. Zayn really needs to get that crack in his screen fixed. 

Zayn grumbles, his face soft and creased with sleep. “Hey, I was watching that,” he says, without opening his eyes.

“Really,” Liam says, pausing the show and setting Zayn’s laptop on his desk. “Who’s the president?”

“Obama,” Zayn mumbles, and Liam laughs, short and loud, because he’s in love with this boy and his nonsensical sleep-talk, his stubbornness, the way he pouts in his sleep and curls tighter around his pillow. Liam’s already shucking off his shoes and his hoodie, climbing into bed next to Zayn and plastering himself against his back. Zayn mumbles contentedly, snuggling closer to Liam.

“We were meant to be going out for our anniversary dinner,” Liam whispers against Zayn’s neck. Technically they’ve only been dating for six months, but they were sleeping together six months before that, so Liam likes to claim it’s been a year. Zayn just ‘hmmph’s. 

“M’sleeping,” he says.

“I had a table booked n’ everything,” Liam says, his lips brushing closer to Zayn’s ear. He feels Zayn arch against Liam’s chest, grinding off a little where Liam’s already getting hard in his jeans. He has no intention whatsoever of keeping their dinner reservation.

“Babe,” Zayn says, his voice high and a little breathless. “You didn’t have to –“

“I know,” Liam says, gently rolling Zayn onto his back and swinging one leg over his hips. Finally, Zayn opens his eyes, and Liam feels like he’s freefalling into the depths of Zayn’s warm, golden eyes. He leans down to brush his lips over Zayn’s and feels Zayn roll his hips up against Liam’s. He chuckles a little, because it’s _so_ like Zayn to go from fast asleep to horny in less than five minutes.

“Patience, babe,” Liam scolds against Zayn’s collarbone, but Zayn only whines and ruts up against Liam again. 

“Been waiting for you _all_ day,” Zayn moans, and Liam’s own prick jolts a little at that. His last exam is tomorrow, and he’d promised Zayn he could take the evening off as long as he could spend the whole day studying. It was worth it, Liam thinks, for this, to have Zayn waiting and desperate for him now.

“Yeah?” he asks distractedly, mouthing over Zayn’s tattoos that cover his collarbone and chest – his wings, the Arabic script, the pair of lipstick lips that Liam always teases him about. 

Liam’s teasing him with his mouth now instead of his words, ghosting his lips over Zayn’s nipple before lapping at it with his tongue. He feels Zayn’s hand wrap around his bicep and he flexes, because, well, he can. Liam grazes Zayn’s nipple with his teeth just to hear the mewling sound Zayn makes, to feel him arch his back off the mattress, practically rubbing himself against Liam’s mouth. Absent-mindedly, Liam rubs at Zayn’s other nipple with his thumb, and feels Zayn start to grind against his hips rhythmically. Liam is having none of it. 

He sits up, glaring down at Zayn and placing both his hands on Zayn’s hips, stilling his movement.

“What’ve I told you about trying to get off before I’m ready?” Liam says, but there’s no heat in his voice. He’s pretty sure the way he’s looking down at Zayn like he’s the only other person in the entire world is enough to let Zayn know he’s only playing around, like they’ve always done. Zayn just pouts and wriggles slightly under Liam’s firm hands. Liam flicks his hip gently with his finger.

“You gonna be good for me?” Liam asks, his voice low, and Zayn’s eyes widen slightly, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. Liam’s eyes hone in on the movement, feeling it go straight to his dick. He’d almost forgotten how hard he was, too focused on teasing Zayn. 

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, closing his eyes briefly before they lock back on Liam’s. Liam smiles softly, and lowers his chest to the mattress, his mouth aligned with Zayn’s thighs. Zayn spreads them instinctively, and fuck if that doesn’t send sparks shooting down Liam’s spine, making _him_ want to grind off against the mattress, because Zayn is just so _ready_ for him. Liam can see the wet spot on his pants where the tip of his cock brushes against the cotton, knows the familiar flush along Zayn’s thighs that tell him he’s painfully hard, just like Liam is. 

“So good for me,” Liam mouths against the inside of Zayn’s thigh, and he feels Zayn quivering beneath him. “Spreading your legs for me like a good boy, yeah?” 

He sucks a mark into the soft skin below Zayn’s boxers, and hears Zayn keen above him. Liam can smell him already, the scent of sweat and musk and something so uniquely _Zayn_ it makes Liam’s head spin clouding his mind. 

Trying to focus, he ropes his thumbs into the waistband of Zayn’s pants and pulls them down, making sure the fabric drags over the tip of Zayn’s cock as he does so, and all the way down the shaft. It has the desired effect as Zayn moans, his hand leaving Liam’s bicep to fist in his hair. He’s been growing it, at Zayn’s request, and it’s got quite long on top, curling around his forehead, though he keeps the sides short. Liam pulls his head away from Zayn’s hand so he can take off his pants, throwing them somewhere over his shoulder so he can kiss up Zayn’s leg again. He lingers over the backs of his knees, always sensitive, and over the soft skin of Zayn’s ass. He deliberately avoids the places he knows Zayn wants him most, stroking instead over his hips, the inside of his thighs, his stomach.

“Li,” Zayn whines from above him, and Liam lifts his head. 

Zayn looks half-fucked already, his hair a mess as he tosses and turns against the sheets, a sheen of sweat gathering on his skin, and Liam feels breathless just looking at him because _he did that_. Him. Liam Payne. Did that to Zayn Malik. Miracles really do happen, he thinks. 

“What, babe?” Liam asks, his voice rough, and Zayn just meets his eyes with a pleading expression. Liam smirks up at him, his fingers still tracing circles on Zayn’s hip. “Tell me what you want,” Liam says.

“Can you –“ Zayn cuts himself off with a moan into his pillow, and Liam has to look away before he comes on the spot, because Zayn’s so painfully beautiful that Liam sometimes can’t take it.

“Tell me, baby,” Liam says encouragingly, planting a wet kiss on Zayn’s thigh. 

“Want you to – lower,” Zayn gasps, and Liam presses more kisses down Zayn’s leg, to the fleshy part of his thigh, still avoiding his hole.

“Here?” Liam breathes, because he gets off on teasing Zayn as much as Zayn does. Zayn groans in frustration.

“Liam,” he huffs out, and Liam climbs quickly up the bed, peppering Zayn’s face with kisses. Zayn clings to him, a little helpless, and Liam’s so gone for him he’s amazed sometimes that he’s made it this far in life without Zayn. 

“Want me to eat you out?” Liam says quietly in Zayn’s ear, and Zayn moans so loudly that Liam has to smother his mouth with a hand. “Ssssh, baby, I’ve got you. That what you want?” 

Zayn nods his head furiously against Liam’s hand, and Liam replaces it with his lips. Zayn is sloppy, licking into Liam’s mouth straight away and moaning shamelessly against Liam’s teeth. 

“You want my tongue inside you?” Liam breathes into his mouth between kisses. “Want me to fuck you open with my mouth?” Zayn’s hands scrabble at Liam’s chest as he hums little moans of agreement. Liam is so hard he can barely think, but he loves getting Zayn worked up like this, loves getting him desperate and speechless and needy. 

“Liam, fuck –“

“Gonna get wet for me?” Liam asks, kissing down Zayn’s chest again, quicker this time because his pulse is racing and he needs to taste Zayn, now, or he thinks he might actually die.

“Mmmm,” Zayn moans as Liam’s mouth brushes the backs of his thighs. “M’we – wet already,” he pants, and Liam traces two fingers messily through the precum beading at the tip of Zayn’s cock. 

“Not here, babe,” Liam says, and rubs his moistened fingers against Zayn’s hole. “Here.”

Zayn sounds like he’s about to cry at the long-awaited brush of Liam’s fingers, but Liam replaces his fingers immediately with his mouth, keeping his kisses close-mouthed. 

“You gonna get wet here, too?” Liam asks, flattening his tongue and licking over Zayn’s hole as Zayn spreads his legs further. 

“Yeah,” he says frantically, and Liam reaches up to find his hand in the sheets, knotting their fingers together.

“Good boy,” Liam says, his mind almost gone as he licks around Zayn’s hole, already fluttering and pink with anticipation. “So good for me, baby,” he says, gripping Zayn’s hand as he stiffens his tongue and pushes, gently, inside Zayn. 

Liam loses himself, then, in the smell of Zayn’s skin and sweat, the sharp taste on his tongue and the noises Zayn makes that fill the room. Liam’s too far gone to tell him to be quiet, and it might be one of his favourite things about Zayn, how loud he gets when Liam’s got his tongue inside him. He fucks Zayn open slowly, gently, alternating between his tongue and two fingers, until Zayn is begging him over and over to fuck him, pleading with Liam to let him come soon. 

Liam thinks about arguing, telling Zayn he has to be good and wait – they’ve been experimenting with denial a bit recently, because Zayn kind of goes crazy for it – but Liam doesn’t think he can deny _himself_ right now, because Zayn is completely overwhelming him. 

So Liam sloppily, hastily, kisses his way back up Zayn’s torso, tasting his sweat and desire, and licks into his mouth filthily, loving how Zayn groans back against him as he tastes himself. Liam feels Zayn’s hand reach between them and line Liam’s cock up with his hole, just as he hooks a leg around Liam’s waist, pulling him closer. Slowly, excruciatingly, Liam pushes inside Zayn, watching his face for any sign of pain or discomfort. But he looks completely blissed out, his eyes closed and his lashes clumped together from sweat, or maybe tears of pleasure, and Liam kisses them away as he bottoms out. Zayn lets out a long sigh, but before he can get too comfortable Liam drags his cock out until the head catches at Zayn’s rim, then fucks into him hard. 

Zayn’s eyes fly open and latch onto Liam’s face, but he doesn’t look hurt or worried or scared, he looks like he’d happily put his life in Liam’s hands right now. His hand fixes onto Liam’s forearm as they slip into a familiar rhythm, their panting, ragged breath keeping time. Liam’s glad he spent so long prepping Zayn, because he’s practically dripping wet, and so hot around Liam that he’s starting to get black spots at the edges of his vision.

They haven’t used a condom in a couple months, ever since the night Zayn had begged Liam, in the heat of the moment, to fuck him raw, and Liam wasn’t man enough to argue. Neither of them are sleeping with anyone else anyway; Liam can’t even think of anyone except Zayn when he’s in class, when he’s at the gym, when he falls asleep. It makes it even harder to hold off his orgasm as he fucks into Zayn, feeling the wet drag of his skin against his cock. He feels almost crazy with it, and anchors himself with Zayn’s face, watching his expression slowly turn from blissful to desperate to almost-panicked. 

“M’gonna – fuck, Liam, I’m –“ Zayn gasps, and Liam kisses him through his orgasm, barely registering the way Zayn spurts up his own chest and over his tattoos before he’s stiffening himself, feeling every nerve ending in his body light up like electricity, sending sparks coursing through his veins as he comes. 

When he returns to himself, he sees Zayn looking up at him a little dazedly, and even though Liam’s words have temporarily left him, he wants to tell Zayn every single way he’s in love with him. Liam kisses him instead, feeling his body go soft, and Zayn lets out a low hum into his mouth.

“I think you killed me,” Zayn says when Liam gently pulls out and grabs a tissue from the bedside table for Zayn to wipe himself. 

Liam snorts. “I did not kill you.” 

“No, really,” Zayn says, his voice still hoarse as he throws the tissue to the floor and snuggles up to Liam. “I’ve left the earthly realm. I’ve crossed to the other side. I’m –“

“Shut up,” Liam says, planting a soft kiss on Zayn’s lips to make his point. “If you’re dead, how come I’m still here? I feel very much alive, thank you very much.” Zayn laughs into Liam’s collarbone, and Liam thinks wildly of birds taking flight and sunlight shining through leaves. 

He may not be dead, but he’s probably lost the plot.

“I’m hungry,” Zayn grumbles, and Liam snorts.

“We could still make our reservation if we leave –“ he checks his watch – “an hour ago.” Zayn smirks over at him.

“Or….” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes that Liam knows all too well. “We could order in and you could feed me while I wait for you to get hard again.” 

Liam rolls his eyes, but he’s already reaching for his phone, re-ordering their usual from the restaurant’s website: black bean beef and sweet and sour pork, the first meal he’d brought round for Zayn when Zayn was still pretending it was just sex, when Liam was still pretending he was ok with that.

Once he’s entered his credit card details, he glances over at Zayn, who’s already asleep on the pillow next to him, his mouth hanging open and his eyelids fluttering softly. Zayn can fall asleep anywhere: in class, in the middle of a movie, on the train, mid-sentence. He’d fallen asleep at Harry’s mum’s wedding last month. 

Liam’s chest feels enormous, like his heart has swelled to the size of Zayn’s mattress. He runs a finger over the stubble on Zayn’s jaw, smoothing it down where it’s messy and rough from rubbing against the pillow. He presses a light kiss to Zayn’s forehead, trying to keep the thud of his heart from waking Zayn.

“Love you,” he whispers against Zayn’s temple. 

“Love you too,” Zayn murmurs, and Liam just smiles, feeling everything slip gently into place, like turning a key in the lock, and coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and comment if you enjoyed it :) and of course I'm on [tumblr](http://www.zouiamsingingalliwantforxmas.tumblr.com) if you ever wanna talk anything Ziam/1D


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